Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou Saigo no Butai
by Vitani
Summary: Language, violence. The story of the Golden Dragon was unfinished, but Tatsuma hoped it would be his battle alone to fight until the end. Yet destiny is a wheel, friendship even stronger, and the Stars of Fate are called once more to his side. Anime finale fic.
1. Pray for the Future

**Author's Note: **This fanfic is my attempt at closing the story to the anime, which was left on a cliffhanger to mimic the "ending" of the original manga. The subtitle, _Saigo no Butai_, translates to "Last Performance" or "Final Act". I chose it to follow the theme set by season two, _Dai ni Maku_ (which means "Second Act"). Like the anime, I am using more characters from the original videogame and elements from the manga to continue the tale.

**Acknowledgements:** Thank you to my beta-reader **Sybil Rowan **for her technically keen eye, attention to detail, and friendly support! And thanks to my readers here, too!

**Disclaimers: **The anime _Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou _and all its characters remain property of © Majin Production Committee, Shuuhou Imai, Shinji Ishihira, Asmik Ace, AIC Spirits, and many other talented people. The videogame _Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpuuchou _and all its characters remain property of © Nintendo and its professional creative staff. The manga _Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpuuchou_ remain the property of © Asato Kina and GanGan Wing. All rights reserved. Any original characters and events remain property of the fan fiction author and should not be used without permission. No infringement is intended by this not-for-profit fan story that was written solely for fun.

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_**Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou**_**「**_**Saigo no Butai**_**」**

**Opening - Pray for the Future**

The end. Did any story ever begin with the end?

Tatsuma Hiyuu did feel a sense of finality to his world, weightlessly floating there in the void. The darkness around him was still, and silent, save for the hush of the air. It was completely empty. Somehow it seemed peaceful, comforting. Despite that, he felt ill at ease, and unable to allow himself to be seduced by those wistful sensations. Something always called him back.

For a moment, he wondered if he were actually dead. Perhaps this place had trapped him forever in limbo, a wandering soul from a life left unfinished. Yet at that pondering, he felt no fear. The concept of death, though foreign at times to his youthful mind, never scared him. After everything he had endured, he might almost welcome the passing; it would mean he could be with his family again. That wasn't such a bad notion. But _something_ always called him back.

Tatsuma suddenly realized what that something was – the echo of Kyouichi Houraiji calling his name.

It seemed like a memory from years ago; or maybe it had never even happened? Had it all been a dream? The voice sounded so distant now, but he was certain it was Kyouichi. And he sounded concerned, upset. But why? What had happened that would cause his friend to sound so worried? _Maybe I did die?_

As if in response, thunder resounded hollowly in the distance, a harbinger to a storm on the rise. It was strange, but it almost sounded like laughter, a rich, evil chortle in response to his sad thoughts. Someone was mocking him, amused at his human distress.

_No, _he told himself surely. _This isn't any afterlife. No Heaven or Hell is waiting for me... _All sense of serenity vanished.

It hadn't been a dream, nor an old memory. It was _now_, and happening for real within the spiritual dimension the Dragons existed in. The tempest was looming closer, smoky-black clouds illuminated with purple lightning. Tatsuma knew it was no ordinary storm; he could feel the power emanating from the eye. It was Munetaka Yagyuu – and he was coming for him.

"How foolish."

A cold, detached tenor voice boomed from the sky; it was Yagyuu, but the tone lost all trace of earthly passion. It was an otherworldly evil addressing him, taunting him like some malicious demon.

Tatsuma pressed his shoulders back and drew his knees to the fore to halt his forward levitation. There was nothing in the darkness beyond but the storm over space; behind him it was empty and black. But below there were irregular cliffs shrouded in churning fog, and they were real enough for him to settle on. Heedless to the torrential wind pulling at his blue hoodie, thrashing his hair, Tatsuma squinted to see into the gales, yet there was no evidence of the man or beast within. The voice echoed through the void, as if it was the void itself.

"In the end, the people of this world are all like sakura flowers. They bloom for a short time, then fall – leaving behind only ugly corpses."

The threat hit home, and Tatsuma's brows lowered in anger as a flash of light flickered through his yellow eyes, now glinting like topaz gems. He hated to hear the god-like manner in which Yagyuu spoke of everyone, and it spurred his rage. And his power.

The battle was far from over, but Tatsuma knew it was _his_ battle from here on out. That's why Kyouichi called his name in alarm, because he understood Tatsuma's intentions. When Yagyuu had fled the battlefield, Tatsuma knew he had to pursue him, without fail. It had been hard to look back and see the frightful worry on his friends' faces. Although it was difficult to accept, for all of them, Tatsuma was sure his friends would understand. As long as the power of the Yin and Yang existed, it was the responsibility of the Golden Dragon to fight and regain order.

Tokyo had already been razed to the ground, and he had no idea of how far the Apocalypse had spread. But he knew his friends and their families, and everyone he had ever known, had suffered too much already. He could not ask them to give any more, not for a responsibility that was his alone now. Their part in this story had ended.

However the story was not yet finished, and the tale would begin again from the end. For his friends, he would continue to fight. To protect them, he had to finally kill Munetaka Yagyuu.

In response to the hostile statement, Tatsuma unflinchingly said, "Then I will be the blossom that does not fall."

He had to believe it; he had to be resilient.

Suddenly, the wind changed direction, and the stone beneath his feet began to quake. And from the depths below the foot of the cliffs, like a rising tide from the River Styx, the scorching flames of the Yin Dragon rose. Lightning seared the sky to meet the celestial beast, and the power that was now Yagyuu soared up before Tatsuma. The white-hot light formed the jagged outline of a Dragon, which coiled upward like an enormous serpent. Hovering over the teenage boy, the beast bent it's head down, crackling like electricity, to gaze on him approximating a deity, much to Tatsuma Hiyuu's offense.

Tatsuma growled low in his throat. Yagyuu had fled because he had lost the original source of his power when Tatsuma had rescued Ryuuji Yashiro. He was under the impression the evil-doer had been hiding from him, unable to fight, because, until now, he'd been quiet. Tatsuma realized during that time Yagyuu was merely regaining strength.

Tatsuma met the awakened challenge. With no effort, the Golden Dragon's energy spilled from the body of the Vessel, engulfing the high school student in power so pure it was sheer sunlight. As Tatsuma's body instinctively leaped for Yagyuu in attack, the light shot to the sky in the spiraling form of another Dragon.

The Yin Dragon sailed higher for its own better position from which to defend. Except the Golden Dragon had velocity from Tatsuma pushing off the cliff-side, and it crashed into the opponent with jaws wide. The sound of eerie roars mixed with the claps of lightning and the drone of thunder as the two starry beasts fought. Yin and Yang coiled and clutched at each other savagely, until the Golden Dragon's fangs sunk into the Yin's outstretched, long neck. Tatsuma was vaguely conscious of his desire to reach the end, and with his anxious thoughts, the Golden Dragon dragged the Yin down towards Earth, mindless of any risk to itself.

The two dragons fell, the light of their bodies convulsing, integrating, as if one massive lightning bolt was severing the night sky in search of dreadful ground to strike. From afar, it must have looked like a falling star. But strike ground they did, the Golden unwilling to release its prey, and the battling roars died away as the Dragons fell to Earth.

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**Note:** Chapter is titled after the first track on the © ACID album of the same name, in no small part due to the fact the instrumental piece was the inspiration for this scene. Music was composed by member Yuuta Amari, and no infringement of copyrights is intended.


	2. SOSUS

**_Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou _****「****_Saigo no Butai_****」**

**Chapter 1 - SOSUS**

Empty. It was so incredibly empty, all around naught but sheer blackness, which left everything suspended in a state of absolute nothingness. Yet there was also a heaviness to this world, and the vacant space had just enough sense of reality that he knew he wasn't weightlessly floating in a void. He was actually _somewhere_.

After a time, when his eyes adjusted to the dark, Kyouichi Houraiji found he could make out small earthly details: the jagged edges of shattered rocks, a fallen and broken evergreen, and litter scattered up from the forest floor. A mountain top? Was he back on Mount Fuji, after the battle with Munetaka Yagyuu? It would account for the natural devastation around him. But there was something wrong; all of it came across as withered and ancient, as if whatever had occurred here happened years ago.

He shivered, a shadow of foreboding hovering around him. The view wasn't the only thing that felt empty; so did Kyouichi. He felt utterly drained, as if he too had aged greatly. _This can't be right. I don't feel right._

In fact, he felt... afraid. Kyouichi's body trembled again, even as he struggled to contain the wretched sensation. He hated feeling fear, and he constantly shrugged off anything that would cause him worry or make him nervous. He was always the type to do what needed to be done, with little to no regard to how he felt. Emotions were not valuable in his world, nor to his mind, which had been hardened by not only the back streets of Shinjuku, but also by his resentment and anger.

That's right. Anger was the feeling he'd rather experience. It had proved more reliable, more adaptable. He wasn't a Goddamn pussy, and he'd shame the memory of his father if he allowed himself to show anything as cowardly as fear.

But no matter how many times he told himself to be strong, an icy grip took hold of his chest, squeezing his lungs until he felt he couldn't breathe. Kyouichi wondered if this was what the medical kind would call an anxiety attack. Over _what_, though? He had never been afraid of the dark before, nor had a battle ever caused him concern.

Or fear.

_What is it you're afraid of? _a voice questioned inside his mind. Kyouichi shook his head to ward off the unwelcomed thought, which wasn't his, and felt heat rise at the back of his neck, making his ears ring with a tinny rhythm.

"I'm _not_ afraid," he stated aloud, hearing his voice echo back as if it had bounced off an invisible wall. "I've been here before, and the battle's over. Why should I be afraid?"

Even as he spoke the definite words, he knew deep down they weren't true. The battle wasn't over. Tatsuma Hiyuu was still trying to fight it.

Tatsuma! That was it, the reason he was afraid and empty. Tatsuma had gone off alone when Yagyuu had fled in the midst of the chaos, and although he knew he would have done the same, Kyouichi couldn't stop the fear that settled in his gut like steel. He continued to think about the look on Tatsuma's face before he left – it was a sorrowful and apologetic look that said farewell.

A shudder passed through him again, and Kyouichi's hand tightened on his bokuto; he hadn't even been aware he was holding it. He cursed silently, and closed his eyes on the memory. It was unfair! It wasn't right of Tatsuma to leave them behind, all his friends who had always shared in the struggles they faced. Kyouichi couldn't help but feel slighted at how unfair it was, how he had been left behind in torment, wondering, worrying._ Damn you, kid!_

Now anger began to fill the empty void inside him, and Kyouichi welcomed the surefire feeling. Alone in the blackness, he felt himself slip back into his old self, the bully of the streets who vented his personal justice on others with an iron fist. Justice, or so he thought. By the time he met Tatsuma, he was already understanding that what he viewed as righteous was nothing more than his childhood wrath. Maybe he was still being childish? _What if I am? Was I really wrong back then? _

_No, you weren't. _The voice agreed with him. But whose voice was it? It seemed oddly familiar. _You were always alone, just like you are now. You know what you have to do..._

Suddenly, he felt something against his ankle, curling around his leg. Opening his eyes, Kyouichi saw it was a snake. Vaguely surprised at finding something else alive in this horrible place, he pulled back from its coiling form, half kicking the tiny serpent away. The snake bolted like a grounded streak of lightning, slithering off as if it's own fear were guiding it someplace safe. Watching it flee, Kyouichi turned –

And saw he _wasn't_ alone. There was someone else there with him in the darkness, only feet away. Neither was the snake alone, now it writhed in a mass of other snakes that were roiling around the feet of the other boy. The teenager was turned sideways, arms limply hanging at his sides, his face hidden behind the hood of a blue sweatshirt. He wore a Magami Academy uniform.

"Tatsuma?" Kyouichi breathed. He was confused, but somehow the image of his friend before him didn't seem strange; it felt like nothing more than an accurately planned meeting. "Why are you here?"

_You know what you have to do..._

A pained sob broke from the other boy's lips, and it made Kyouichi's foreboding rise. He took a tentative step forward, not bothered by the bizarre turn of events. Indeed, Kyouichi was more disturbed by the revelation he felt nothing at seeing his friend again – nothing but the same fear and anger he'd been feeling, trapped in this place.

"Don't," Tatsuma said, almost accusingly. "Don't come near me."

A flash went through Kyouichi's mind, a quickly dredged up memory of Tatsuma standing under a cherry tree. Kyouichi stood outside the shadow of the tree. Pale pink petals fell around them like snow, but the serene vision was dulled by the expression on Tatsuma's face – a look of warning and pleading. _Stay away._

Kyouichi had seen that vision before, and he knew what it meant. Tatsuma didn't want his help. He was being unfair again. "Tatsuma –"

Another strangled sob, and this time the other boy's arms raised, his hands gripping the sides of his head like a vice. The serpents around him were endlessly intertwining, constantly moving, like flowing tides against a beach; a few tree snakes were reaching upward for him, as if to give him comfort. Kyouichi's lips pulled back in a disgusted sneer.

Tatsuma moaned, "They're killing me."

Kyouichi could only shake his head; he didn't understand. _The snakes? _

"Get rid of them." Tatsuma suddenly withdrew his hands, throwing off his hood as he did so. He began clawing at his own wrists desperately. "I have to get rid of them!"

Tatsuma pulled off his signature fingerless gloves, displaying the peculiar markings on the backs of his hands. And they were glowing with a fierce golden light. Kyouichi watched in stunned horror, and a slight fascination, as the skin around those markings began to peel away, melting like wax under the light of his power. Tatsuma turned to his friend then, and his eyes were huge and sightless, all color completely gone; Kyouichi gasped. The look on his face was terror, and Kyouichi felt that same fear ignited in his own body.

"Get rid of them!" Tatsuma cried again as the flesh began to scorch around his eyes. Kyouichi could see the sinew and muscles of his cheeks now as Tatsuma began frantically ripping at the garments around his throat, as if he were suffocating.

Kyouichi couldn't move, he couldn't even feel his own body anymore as he watched that of his friend's grotesquely falling apart. But Tatsuma wasn't burning away, something else was burning out of him; Kyouichi could see it in the way his muscles were coiling beneath his skin, just like the serpents at his feet.

Finally Tatsuma succeeded in tearing open his clothing, exposing the naked flesh of his chest. He hadn't really realized it before, but now Kyouichi could see there was a great marking on the boy's chest as well, in the same symbolic manner as those on his hands. Light spread from that birthmark, and Tatsuma's ribcage began collapsing inward.

_Don't wait. You know what you have to do... _

Golden rays burst from Tatsuma's sneakers so that all his extremities were aglow. Four shining marks: North, South, West and East. And the symbol which fate had tattooed over his heart was now practically on fire. All of them were the marks of the Vessel of the Golden Dragon.

And the Dragon was now breaking free from its human container. Kyouichi could tell by the way Tatsuma's cheekbones pulled back, his face elongating like the head of a serpent. His eyes were sinking back into his skull, reshaping into beady points on the side of his face. The pale flesh kept melting away from bleeding tissue that was being slowly engulfed by light.

No, not light. Energy. Pure, powerful celestial energy.

Kyouichi heard his own breaths coming in strong pants now, and he was afraid; he was suddenly very much afraid of what was happening, of the whole black place around him. And of what Tatsuma was becoming.

"I have to get rid of them," deduced Tatsuma once more, begging, beginning to move towards Kyouichi. The pool of snakes either moved with him, or began slipping into the uncovered hollows of his legs, using his bones to curl and climb. Then his clawed hand reached out for Kyouichi, but it wasn't for help. It was threatening and condemning, the manner in which Tatsuma came at his friend. Finally, he growled in a voice that no longer sounded like Tatsuma, "You can't help me!"

_You know what you have to do..._

With a gasp, Kyouichi quickly raised his bokuto as the creature that was once Tatsuma drew too near, and he pushed the blunt wooden tip against the chest, trying to force him back in warning not to come any closer. A sheen of cold sweat broke out over Kyouichi's skin, it tingled as if pricked by a million needles.

_You know what you have to do..._

And Kyouichi gasped again as he saw that it wasn't his bokuto he held. It was a true sword, and he had driven the lethally pointed blade into the other boy's heart.

"Kyouichi?" The hollow voice was demanding and shocked.

"I didn't know..." Kyouichi gawked in absolute shock. Had he just been that dense to have failed to notice the weapon? But the voice in his head sounded so sure... He would never have done such a thing, never to Tatsuma!

But it wasn't Tatsuma anymore. Was it?

"Kyouichi?" The voice was still reproachful, but now it held a note of deep sadness and betrayal. "Kyouichi..."

Betrayal. The word burned into his brain just as the light of the Golden Dragon erupting out of his friend's body seared his eyes. The light took away all the blackness and shadows, and gratefully the vision of his blade piercing Tatsuma; it took away everything Kyouichi no longer wanted to see.

_You know what you have to do..._

Kyouichi felt himself drowning now, the voice in his head distant and mingled with the epic roars of Dragons clashing. He couldn't see, but the voice kept echoing through his whirling mind.

_You know..._

His body jerked convulsively.

And he woke up, pitching forward, hands flailing for something to hold on to. Like a man afraid of falling over an edge. His fingers curled around bed sheets so tightly the small joints ached.

Then silence. All his brain could register was the sudden pitch blackness around him, and Kyouichi felt fear grip his chest again. Was he still back on the mountain top? He unconsciously lifted a shaking hand to his collar, and realized he was holding his breath. A gasp, and then he began sucking air in through his constricted throat so sharp and fast it made him cough.

That was all he needed to realize he'd just been dreaming.

_A fucking nightmare._

Panting, Kyouichi gazed down at his hands balled against the sheets in a death grip. He had to mentally tell himself to let go, slowly unfastening each finger. He was soaked with perspiration, and a chill was stabbing at him, making him shiver. He passed a hand over his face, slick with sweat, and rubbed at his lower lip in agitation. He suddenly felt foolish, thinking how only children should be woken up by terrors while sleeping. And he usually never dreamed, and definitely not about something so serious to his real life.

The sense of foreboding he recalled from his dream came into his waking world.

Untwisting himself from the tangle of bedclothes he must have created in his thrashing, stepping over the pillows chucked on the floor, Kyouichi hurriedly got out of bed. He moved as if chased from it by the unwanted reminiscences of what his imagination just created. It was a trick of his mind, he told himself. It wasn't anything like a vision or foretelling. It was only a stupid dream.

Without realizing it, Kyouichi grumbled aloud, "I'm not afraid. It was_ just_ a fucking nightmare." But the ringing in his ears and the anger in his voice was valid enough, and he went to open the window in his hotel room for clean air.

A frigid breeze wafted in, and although he still felt chilled, he appreciated the icy slap of Mother Nature and the sensation of the sheer curtains brushing against him. They were _real_, and helped to settle his thoughts back into the mundane world. With a gratified sigh, Kyouichi leaned into the frame as he stared out the glass.

The unfamiliar city streets beyond were shadowed under the faint light of a waning moon, bathed in a deep midnight blue color that signaled the hour was late; the sun was far off, and he could still catch some more hours of sleep. If he could coax himself back into bed.

Kyouichi shook his head at himself in indignation. Even after his father was killed, Kyouichi couldn't remember a time when a nightmare had forced him awake. Most of the time he could hardly recollect specifics of any dreams he may have had; he just slept them off. He was a simple guy like that. But he also never shied from a struggle, never broke under hardships; he was strong. So why was he feeling so... helpless? He smirked as he thought, _What am I so afraid of?_

He knew the answer, of course. He was afraid of what had become of Tatsuma.

Tatsuma Hiyuu, whose own strength came from being sensitive towards others. That same boy was now all alone and fighting a greater threat than anything they had ever encountered together before. Kyouichi made no attempt to feign understanding of Tatsuma's situation, but he knew he could help him whatever may come. _Damn, kid... I thought I was the reckless one._

Unbidden, another thought rose to him as he stared at the starry sky outside. Kyouichi's eyes slit in suspicious wonderment as he remembered the voice – a voice that now seemed to be taunting him. He said softly, "You know what you have to do, huh?"

And then his eyes fixed on his subtle reflection staring back from the window's glass. Gazing at himself, Kyouichi saw his own drawn expression, weary and weighted, as if he'd aged significantly. The look in his reflection's eyes was demanding and critical, and suddenly Kyouichi felt unsure. And he hated himself for it.

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**Note: **Chapter is titled after the song on the ACID album "ACID 1.5 -Punk Drunker- " and chosen because I've kept _SOSUS _in my head as the new opening theme. ^^ Song by © ACID and Hideki Imamura, and no infringement is intended.


	3. Chasing the Dragon

**_Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou _****「****_Saigo no Butai_****」**

**Chapter 2 - Chasing the Dragon**

_This isn't right. What the hell is he doin'?_

Kyouichi doggedly stood his ground, his labored breathing now becoming harsh pants. He held his bokuto in both hands, its point directed forward with anticipation; his grip was firm and unwavering, still ready to continue the fight. Down the length of the wooden sword, too far from its reach, his eyes watched his opponent deftly, warily. Kyouichi's pattering heart skipped a quick beat - should he make the next move?

_For that matter, what the hell am_ I_ doin'?_ He was usually not so indecisive. Though his grip and technique were steadfast, his mind kept reeling. Ever since last night, he'd felt anxious; his lungs were dreadfully tight, like balloons crushed between rocks that were steadily caving in on them. It wasn't fatigue, but growing angst. Ever since he had that dream.

And now it seemed like he was holding back the entire battle, and he wasn't sure why. It wasn't like he owed Kisaragi anything.

Watching him with equal disapproval, Hisui Kisaragi waited. The tall young man stood with his head held high and spine completely straight, as always the picture of haughty elegance and trained pride. However, Kyouichi had known him long enough to see the tension in his stance and the fire draining from his dark eyes. The combat had started judiciously, but dwindled to a amateurish brawl swiftly.

_Something's wrong_, Kyouichi said to himself again. _There's something off with him today... _Even from the distance he could see Kisaragi's chest heaving beneath the taut, smooth layers of his school suit, and the frustration in his gaze. His strength was sapped already, and he was struggling not to show it to Kyouichi. _Oh, he'll hate himself if he loses to me. _He had to admit it would feel pretty awesome to finally best the high-and-mighty Kisaragi and have it actually feel like a win.

A wickedly anxious grin parted Kyouichi's lips at the thought, exposing his fanged incisors. Kisaragi's eyes narrowed, and his foot shifted back in a battle-ready stance. Yet neither moved to attack, still assessing, still waiting.

A dry, warm breeze broke the calm as it rolled through the basin, sending up small clouds of dust from the ground. It stung the bleeding cut along Kyouichi's right cheek where Kisaragi's poorly aimed dagger had grazed him. Spring had come, but the heat of summer was prominent in the air and sunlight, although clouds had broken the rays. Even so, Kyouichi could feel the sun's scorching light atop his head, and the air felt course and heavy in his lungs. The arid weather kept the sweat from his skin, but only made him feel that much hotter.

Being uncomfortable and tired of waiting, Kyouichi drove forward with a constrained growl, bringing his bokuto up to strike. The battle started again.

In a flurry, Kisaragi's hand disappeared and reappeared with a fan of daggers, his posture that of a man ready to defend. To Kyouichi, it almost seemed as if he was ready to fall back instead of parry. _What the hell?_ This was a man who would never before dream of shying from fighting the other.

Kyouichi leaped off the earth, arms raised, leaving his middle wide open on purpose. Kisaragi didn't take the easily offered end, even as the bokuto arced through the air towards his head. Kyouichi's wonderment over his opponent turned to ire at the other's obvious stupidity. Instead of the apparent response, Kisaragi lowered himself and dropped away from Kyouichi's airstrike, slipping under his aim midflight. Then he revolved around to face Kyouichi's back – which Kyouichi was _not_ ready to leave open.

Even as he began to swivel in the air, he noted Kisaragi's hand movement out of the corner of his eye, saw he was ready to release his blades. So he immediately fell onto his knees when he reached the ground, not landing on his feet as he had originally planned. He felt the spray of steel pass over his head as he did so. Kyouichi cursed.

He widened his arms, centered himself, and swept the bokuto in a half-circle towards Kisaragi's feet. The other teenager bounded backwards, not upwards. Kyouichi would have risen to prepare another blow. _Why he is only dodging me? Fuck this! _

Offended now, Kyouichi rose forward with a martial cry. As he brought his wooden sword down towards the other, Kisaragi lifted his right arm to block. He caught the mock-weapon along the side of his arm with a soft grunt, keeping it from his body, then pushing it back as best he could with dwindling strength. Kyouichi allowed himself to be forced away, but only slightly. As he began to press inward, Kisaragi's left hand shot out, palm up and fingers clawed.

Knowing better than to be caught in some fancy ninja move, Kyouichi removed one hand from the hilt of his bokuto, now losing force in his weaker left grip. With his free hand and matching speed, Kyouichi grabbed Kisaragi's attacking wrist, twisting it. Even as he did so, Kisaragi was throwing off the bokuto, the aim dropping away.

It was now as if they were in some sort of fierce dance, partnering against each other with equal match. Perhaps not so equal since Kyouichi held onto Kisaragi's arm, while Kisaragi had nothing on him. Still, Kyouichi knew this attack was a stalemate. He roughly pulled the Ouran Academy senior closer, forcing his elbow to bend, and instantly used his core strength to push Kisaragi away, enough to give himself room for another attack.

And he did, without any hesitation or thought. His ire now pulsing into anger, Kyouichi raised the bokuto in a backward stroke, driving in towards Kisaragi. The anxiety he'd been feeling left him oddly light-headed, but his anger had flicked a switch in his brain, turning on something usually dormant and attentively unheeded: blood-lust. He hadn't known it in awhile, ever since his middle school days, but Kyouichi welcomed the sudden urge – almost welcomed the urge to actually harm Kisaragi. The moment seemed to slow down.

Then he heard it. A soft, caring and concerned voice. It called warningly, "Kyouichi!"

Eyes widening in recognition, Kyouichi gasped at the sweet, almost sing-song way his name had been said. He knew that tone. It was Tatsuma, and as always, he was outwardly acting as his friend's conscience.

And then he saw the pain in the other's eyes, saw Kisaragi's expression go distant as the fine features of his face crumbled into a visage of foreboding. _Dammit!_ Kyouichi cursed himself, cursed what he was about to do to poor struggling Kisaragi; and he knew better than to deliver a low blow. He knew, as Tatsuma did, it had to end.

Instead of striking the vital hit he had previously intended, Kyouichi flipped the bokuto into his other hand as he passed by Kisaragi. He swung the wood downwards and back, harshly slapping the soft curvature behind Kisaragi's knee. The other teenager didn't cry out, but the impact dropped him on that side.

Kisaragi knelt where he fell, as if he were unable to move anymore. For a time, the two stayed as they were, the heaving sounds of their breathing filling the void between them as each were lost in their own thoughts and flaws. A hollow breeze passed through, almost like a referee's call to cease game.

Brows drawn low in speculation, Kyouichi wondered if Kisaragi had heard Tatsuma's voice, too. Or had the call been a figment of his imagination? Perhaps his brain was still reliving the dream he'd had? He looked, rather hopefully, around the basin floor, but of course they were alone. It had to have been in his head.

Finally, Kyouichi stood to his full height, bringing the bokuto back to rest against his shoulder in his customary bully's stance. He tapped it several times against himself, thinking. Rejecting the notion of bringing up Tatsuma's cry, he shook his head and said, "What's up, Muttsuri? It isn't like you to be so... easy."

_Easy to read. Easy to defeat._

He waited for the other to scoff at him, or give the usual, witty verbal attack; good old "Doom n' Gloom" was never above a follow-up name calling. But Kisaragi made no reply whatsoever, and the wispy sound of an understanding breath was the only indication he'd heard him at all. Kyouichi sighed and shook his head again, but this time it was doleful.

"Seems we're both a little rusty. But I guess training is over." It wasn't a question, but Kyouichi turned to regard Kisaragi with an arched brow and a forced, vaguely taunting grin. Both disappeared when he saw his sparring partner.

Kisaragi was suddenly clutching his left hand and huddled over his arm as if in anguish.

Kyouichi's bokuto arm dropped as he immediately went to him. "Oh crap, I didn't break anything, did I?" He had a fleeting thought of victory over an old battle finally, but the humanist in him dispelled any glee and turned the thought to unwanted guilt. The guilt erupted tenfold when he recalled how damn bloodthirsty he'd suddenly gotten. Hadn't he grown out of that?

But he already knew, had an uncanny sense of foreboding, that his previous blow hadn't inflicted any serious damage, even before Kisaragi muttered, "It wasn't you."

When he reached Kisaragi's side, he saw him staring at the backside of his hand, and his skin looked eerily luminous. And Kyouichi knew why the other had been so off-balanced and winded during their entire practice session; knew because he had been experiencing the same distant anxiety...

"It's him, isn't it? Tatsuma?"

Kisaragi dipped his head in a nod, but it seemed oddly quizzical. "You feel it, too, don't you Houraiji?" he whispered in turn, his breathing still ragged. "Since last night?"

Placing his wooden sword back against his shoulder, Kyouichi looked off into the horizon beyond, but his gaze was looking for something that his eyes couldn't see. "Yeah," he replied at long last. "I get this feeling like somethin' ain't right. I dunno what it is exactly, but I know it's about Tatsuma. What do you think it means?"

Kisaragi said nothing, which bothered Kyouichi. As the Vessel of Genbu, Kisaragi was linked on some spiritual level to Tatsuma Hiyuu, and although Kyouichi had no knowledge of higher forces like that, he assumed Kisaragi would be able to sense more. Besides, Kisaragi was well versed in the occult and religions, and knew all about that celestial stuff; he should have more answers than street-smart Kyouichi.

Kyouichi dared the dramatic question: "Is Tatsuma dead?"

"No." Kisaragi was quick to reply, his eyes fixed on the glow about his hand, an assurance that the higher Vessel was still alive. "But something must have happened. Whatever transpired between the Dragons last night, unfortunately I don't think the outcome was good."

"So he found Yagyuu again, and his battle is still raging," Kyouichi said, unable to stop the dire tone of helplessness from reaching his voice.

"We have to hurry and find him," Kisaragi said in agreement. "Before it's too late."

"You sure he can't defeat that bastard on his own?"

Another silence passed between them, and when he finally did answer, Kyouichi sensed that Kisaragi was giving his response more positivity than he honestly felt. "Maybe." Kyouichi's eyes darkened as he gazed at the other, knowing he wanted to say "no" – because it was the same reply he would have made. The kid was strong-willed and powerful, but...

"Still, we need to help the Golden Dragon," Kisaragi added, closing off his side-stepped answer and voicing Kyouichi's current thought.

Muttsuri was always gloomy, but the way in which he spoke of the Dragon was rather final, almost as if he were talking about the end of the entire world. Kyouichi knew that wasn't far from the truth. He'd seen it back in Tokyo.

Nodding, Kyouichi started walking towards the eastern edge of the basin. "Then let's get back to town."

"It's the other way," Kisaragi said, heaving himself to his feet. With effort, he released his hand and slowly began gathering his spent daggers.

"_Tch_," Kyouichi quipped in mild irritation. "If you say so. Lead on, O Tour Guide."

They'd been in China for almost a month now, and Kyouichi was ready to admit that he was homesick – a sensation he would never have imagined possible since he never felt like he had a real home. At first it hadn't been so bad. They flew out of Narita International Airport with anticipation and haste, only able to think about Tatsuma Hiyuu and Munetaka Yagyuu. Leaving Japan had been simple, thoughtless even, and they arrived in Shanghai with purpose.

Kyouichi's first impression of China was that it was so similar to Japan, and the city of Shanghai was a hodgepodge of foreign travelers and Asian influence. It was global, populated, and full of contemporary life much like Tokyo. The Pudong skyline was exhilarating to behold, which both stimulated him and made him feel longingly reminiscent. He never knew much about the world, but Kyouichi always believed everyone and everywhere was the same; it all spun on the same blue planet and was congested with the same manner of wildlife, humans included. Indeed, he found he was right when they landed in Shanghai.

Sure there were differences. He could only read a goodly number of the signs and menus, but the lack of the phonetic writing system left his understanding much to be desired, and he felt vaguely retarded at times. He was glad he had paid some attention in Maria-chan's class to know enough English to speak to modern professionals and young folks, but he knew zero Chinese. It didn't bother Kyouichi at first, because that's why he let Kisaragi come along.

But it got harder the further they moved throughout the country. Kisaragi decided they should stay along the coast to start, considering how large China was inside, so towards Shandong Province they headed. The Kisaragi heir deduced they would be able to get an idea of where the Dragons were by talking to locals; despite the devastation in Japan, they both felt certain the governments wouldn't allow much in-depth details (at least those that were known) to be written about in public papers. Therefore, they traveled through rural villages and smaller towns, asking questions to wizened elders and shamans, finding their way as they voyaged to the capital city, Beijing.

The way got even more confusing to Kyouichi, who after a fashion started to merely tail Kisaragi. As they continued, even Kisaragi, who honestly stated his Cantonese was stronger than his Mandarin, had a difficult time with the various and ever-changing dialects of the regions. And the scenery was melding into one boring picture-postcard, the vast northern plains with their mountains and rivers were all passing Kyouichi's eyes with little regard. Perhaps he left Shanghai starry-eyed, not realizing they were leaving the largest city in China, but the rest of the country seemed rather disappointing. The tourist in Kyouichi died quickly.

It left behind passionate worry and frightful frustration. While he may attest to feeling homesick, Kyouichi was _not_ defeated; the very notion of giving up bullied him to be stronger. Their quest had, in all actuality, just begun. The road ahead was much, much longer.

* * *

The afternoon hours were lengthening into midday by the time the traveling companions found themselves back in the urban city of Linyi. Both had remained subdued during their trek, neither speaking even after they hit the main roadway far on the outskirts and hailed a local cabby to take them back into the city. As the taxi left them off near the Renmin Guangchang, whereby they could walk the remaining blocks to their moderately priced hotel, Kyouichi finally broke the silence.

"We didn't find many people to talk to today," he mused. "What's your plan of action now?"

Brushing his long hair from his face, Kisaragi started down the sidewalk determinedly. "I've been thinking about making a trip to Mount Tai."

A flash from his nightmare shot through his mind, a memory of the unification ritual on Mount Fuji in its wake, but Kyouichi was determined to forget it. Ignoring the other pedestrians and unhurriedly following Kisaragi, Kyouichi kidded, "Heh? You wanna find some mountain man to talk to?"

"It's one of the five Sacred Mountains of China," Kisaragi stated, giving the other a much deserved glare. "It holds many natural and cultural significances and is a place of worship."

"I'm sure you're not thinkin' about sight-seeing or going off to pray," said Kyouichi. "What's going through your head then?"

Slanting his hands into his pant pockets, Kisaragi spoke casually yet softly, as if he were suspicious of others listening in. "Monks or those on spiritual journeys might be more revealing of supernatural occurrences they might have seen lately. Someone who may have received a divine vision, or just a random break in the Dragon Vein – they will be more apt to recognize the signs."

Kyouichi made an understanding sound. "Yeah, these city people seem rather oblivious, like everyone back in Shinjuku who had no idea of what was happening underneath the surface, even when that Kodzunu guy tried reviving the dead. People don't see passed their own noses – until the city collapses on them!"

"Sadly, sometimes that's how it must be to maintain order in society."

Kyouichi shot the other a dark look, wondering how Kisaragi could sound so righteous and political after everything. Leaving it be, he continued, "And these little old folks in the villages probably find the likes of us shady."

"They've been helpful to an extent, but simple people prefer to stay simple," Kisaragi said in affirmation.

"They'd probably keep a lid on anything just to stay outta trouble." Thinking back to the puzzled, and often times frightened, faces of some of the children in those villages, Kyouichi could forgive them for their lack of cooperation.

Kisaragi's chest heaved as if he'd sighed, but he made no sound. "Everything so far has been too quiet, and it unnerves me," he said.

Kyouichi noticed Kisaragi tilt his head slightly, his gaze shifting backwards. For a split second, it looked as if Kisaragi had stolen a glance over his shoulder. But he wasn't looking at Kyouichi. Flicking a brow up questioningly, Kyouichi said grimly, "In that case, maybe we do need some divine intervention?"

"Keeping a lid on it, as you say, may very well be what's happening." Kisaragi's voice was grave, and Kyouichi heard the odd implication in his sentence. He couldn't quite tell, but he thought Kisaragi's pace also quickened.

"You don't think it's 'cuz we're Japanese either, do you?"

"We _are_ outsiders."

The imprecise answer was enough to tell Kyouichi to drop it. He could tell there was something else on Kisaragi's mind, but whatever it was, the Ouran Acamedy senior didn't want to make mention of it. At least not out in public. There was also a strange quality to his tone. It told Kyouichi that Kisaragi wasn't certain of whatever it was he was mulling over.

"You over-think things, Muttsuri," Kyouichi announced, bringing a fake jovial quality to his voice. He placed his bokuto behind his head, lengthwise between his shoulders. Hooking his arms over it casually, he said, "Hey! Let's get some ramen before we continue with the tourist thing. Huh?"

Kisaragi turned about, and there was a grateful shimmer in his eyes; Kyouichi responded with a lop-sided grin. _Yeah, I got ya._ Whatever Kisaragi sensed, Kyouichi knew to trust his intuition. Kisaragi was suddenly even more apprehensive and guarded, and that could mean trouble. Best then to pretend to be a normal high-school student.

Kisaragi nodded, but before they detoured from the path to their hotel, his eyes scanned the mass of people swarming around the sidewalks and streets beyond Kyouichi. It was a subtle gesture, but vivid enough to tell Kyouichi one thing; he suspected they were being followed.

* * *

Kisaragi stood outside his hotel room door, the euphemisms of before draining away with the last of his vim. He was tired, and in no small part from trying to quell the spirit that was housed inside him. Back in the basin he had heard Tatsuma's call. But what his human mind heard as Tatsuma's plea, the deity sharing his body heard the distant war cry of the Golden Dragon. It was a battle in itself to stay Genbu's powers from surfacing.

Indeed, whatever happened to Tatsuma during the past night, it sparked something inside Kisaragi, deep within his soul. He had studied the Dragon Vein since his early childhood, but nothing in that arcane flow could ever have prepared him for the rage of the Four Gods. He knew it was far from over, and as long as Tatsuma continued to chase the Yin Dragon, there would never be proper order, never be quieted peace in the universe. Until the Evil was destroyed, the Four Gods would continue to rise against the flesh-and-blood of their confines.

Kisaragi wondered how long his human body could sustain such a boiling power.

He was tired, and all he wanted to do was strip off of his school uniform and collapse into bed, heavily starched sheets and all. Yet here he stood, frozen outside of the door to his rented Western-style space. His muscles wanted to reach out and twist the stained brass knob, to throw wide the door and plod into his room; a simple movement most others would have done with no regard. But his brain was telling him something entirely different. It was telling him such an ordinary act would be careless. Like walking into a trap. Something wasn't right.

It wasn't just the ominous sense he'd felt before, the sense of being followed, that haunted him even inside. No, it was _here inside_ as well. Whatever shadows were watching their every move in Linyi, he was sure they'd been in the hotel. Which means the spy had been watching them even before this afternoon.

Kisaragi couldn't stop the chill that passed over him, the frigid tendrils of warning which stroked his every nerve. He stared at the door blocking his view, as if the slab of wood could tell him what happened while he was away. He already knew it, though. Someone who wasn't supposed to be here had entered his locked room.

Kyouichi had already gone into his own room, and there was no telltale sign or noise to prove anything was amiss beyond. It meant the trespasser had either gone already, or was in his room. With a determined breath, Kisaragi slid the key-card, grasped the handle, and opened the door. Instantly he pocketed the key and slipped his right hand against his breast, going for the hilt of one of his daggers hidden under his suit.

His trained gaze took in the whole of the slight room, shrouded in a conspicuous reddish glare from the setting sun passing through the pulled curtains on the windows. It was lit, but hazy shadows covered the walls and floors like added veils. Yet those shadows were quiet, unmoving. Kisaragi dared a few steps inside, pressing close to the wall to block his back. His tread was muffled on the carpet, and nothing betrayed his appearance, not one floorboard challenged his silence. He could have easily been another shadow.

As he slipped through the slight hallway into the main cubicle, he hesitated at the corner. He bent his knees ever so slightly, prepared to take a fighting stance, and shifted his weight forward to peer around the edge. The small desk and TV stood guard against the wall, and everything was as he had left it at dawn. He walked deeper in the interior.

Kisaragi had the odd sensation of being tested, and he knew better than to fail. He studied every object about the place, remembering exactly their typical situation and residency. And when his eyes came to the nightstand, he noted the carafe. He had filled the glass pitcher with fresh water before he'd left, so even the hospitality staff had no call to tamper with his things. Before he'd left, the drinking cup was smartly in its place atop the carafe, and it had all been facing the curtains.

Now the cup sat on the tray, rim up and ready to be filled. And the spout of the pitcher was facing the bed. Kisaragi went to the nightstand and touched a finger into the cup; it wasn't wet, still unused. The carafe caught his attention next, and the spout seemed to be an arrow for his gaze. His eyes followed to where it pointed, to the bed.

It was crisply made, and the spread, to his dark amusement, was adorned with curvilinear designs to represent a dragon floating through clouds. It looked stiff and worn, but beckoning to his tortured body. Yet Kisaragi had the impression that the personal space had been tampered with, even though there was no outright evidence of any meddling. The pillows lay perfectly, the spread flat and seamless, and there was not a single wrinkle or lump to declare the bed sullied. Even so, Kisaragi doubted the perfect picture.

He threw the pillows aside, and found his affirmation. Underneath lay a folded and pressed newspaper with a note on top. The note was of utmost importance.

Even before he read the words, he was devouring all the elements with his mind, and not pleased with the connotations he learned. It was written in precise calligraphy by someone with a trained hand, but in a rush. The strokes were bold and symbolic, and pointed to someone with intense cultural training. Much like Kisaragi. And he was convinced the person would also know the sword, judging by the bravado in the lines. Like Kyouichi.

Whoever it was, they would prove to be trouble.

Even more worrisome, the note had been written in Japanese. It said: _You were right, but choose a different mountain._

Kisaragi snatched up the newspaper with a fretful gasp. He felt suddenly alone in the world, as if everyone – everything – were a shadow over him, ready to betray him at the drop of a hat. It was a local paper, and printed that morning. He skimmed the Chinese text on the front page, but none of the headlines seemed applicable to the brazen statement the note displayed. A knot formed in his stomach as he tore open the pages.

Finally he found his answer, buried several pages inside. Reading the script, Kisaragi felt the remaining heat drain from his body, and his fingers went numb with an anticipated dread. The article told of an earthquake that struck a tiny rural village in the predawn hours, which wasn't felt anywhere else, but was apparently devastating enough to require an evacuation of the handful of residents. It also made mention of a rainless storm that brought terrible lightning. One eyewitness was quoted as calling a certain broad bolt of light "a falling star".

_A star? _There was no doubting it.

Genbu stirred deep within his soul, urging Hisui Kisaragi to act. The young man fought off a wave of nausea as his eyes settled on three kanji, read in Pinyin as _Wǔtái Sh__ān_. His hands clenched against the paper with a crunching sound.

_All stars burn out in time, but one star has fallen back to Earth._ Kisaragi bit his lip, knowing he had to pack and get Kyouichi; they had to leave tonight. _His light hasn't died yet... Hiyuu..._

The spy was right, and even though the mysterious person most certainly could be an enemy, at least there was no mistaking the signs. Now Kisaragi knew where they had to go. Shanxi. Mount Wutai.


	4. Future Days Never Last

**_Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou _****「****_Saigo no Butai_****」**

**Chapter 3 - Future Days Never Last**

"Misato, Aoi. Please report to the office. Misato, Aoi –"

The repeated message was cut off by the sudden eruption of lightning and the shuddering tremor of thunder pounding outside; Aoi jumped. The sky had been a flat gray all day, threatening rain, but the abrupt storm raged in with a viciousness that seemed displaced. It was the type of storm which laid low over the earth, and the ground shook with every thunderhead's booming call, quaking the walls of the dojo.

Her focus interrupted, more so by the announcement over the P.A. than the storm, Aoi decided to call it quits for the day. Once broken, she knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate on practicing; her mind would wander back to the dismal present, and she'd start worrying all over again.

With a sigh of resignation, Aoi sat down on the hardwood floor and lay her naginata at her side. Despite the fact it was still early in the afternoon, the dojo was now plunged into a tempestuous darkness brought on by the slate-colored clouds. The light coming in through the windows was heavily dulled, requiring the electric lights in order to see. But Aoi didn't mind the sudden night, leaving the lights off; instead she closed her eyes and tried to blank her mind.

It didn't work of course. All she could think of was Kyouichi, Kisaragi, and Tatsuma.

For a time, she had been able to cast them to the far corners of her brain. It wasn't so much the adage of "out of sight, out of mind," but rather the simple truth that her current life had grown so hectic, she didn't have a moment to stop and remember. All she could manage was to keep up with her ever-changing world.

Almost as soon as Kyouichi and Kisaragi left for China, and after Magami Academy held its makeshift graduation ceremony for the seniors, the survivors in the Tokyo Metropolitan were herded out of the wreckage of the once great city. They had been grouped and transported by the military to designated shelters in areas less effected by the Apocalypse. Tokyo had then been isolated, like a condemned building set to be demolished, and the governments were gutting the remains in hopes of rebuilding someday soon.

Aoi's family had gone to their vacation home in Hokkaido, and she had been expected to go with them. But she refused. Instead, she decided to stay with Komaki Sakurai and Yuuya Daigo, who went on to volunteer in the next shelter they were moved to. Komaki had been so grateful her entire family had been spared from the devastation, and she wanted to help the less fortunate. Sometimes Aoi worried about her, because although her best friend could act tough, she wondered if guilt were eating away at her conscience.

And it didn't help matters that Daigo had fallen into a sort of depressive state. Of course he had gone with Komaki, his utter devotion to her notwithstanding, he had no family to return to; they still had never found his father in fallen Tokyo. Aoi tried to remain positive, as did Komaki, noting it could be a good thing, and he may still be alive somewhere. Komaki had told Aoi that Daigo voiced a desire to return and help rescue efforts, even if he had to join the military to do so, but...

But Aoi was certain he had rejected the notion for Komaki, to stay with her. Something which might also leave her friend feeling blameworthy. Aoi didn't want to stir any emotions, not when they had all already suffered so much mentally, so she never brought up her concerns. As much as she wanted to be there for her friends, she was tired of being the one responsible for everyone.

The Magami Student Council President had always been a position of esteem for her, and she was happy to lead the other students; it also meant she could take care of all their concerns personally. But now...

Aoi was tired and frustrated, even if she fought hard not to outwardly show it. She had thought it would be her burden for the rest of her life, because of course her family was proud of her authority and winning attitude. It meant big things for her future. Yet after everything, she wondered what kind of future it could bring, or if it was even a future she actually wanted.

What Aoi wanted was to give up, even if just for a moment, to stop leading and fighting.

And Kyouichi had told her it was alright to stop being strong. The last time she had seen him, he agreed she had taken on enough, and it was okay for her to let go. It was okay to be a little selfish.

Now more than ever, she trusted his words. Even though she no longer had his strength beside her, his protection and blunt honesty, she knew she could do just that. She would be there for everyone, but only if they wanted her there.

Like she wanted Kyouichi there. Aoi felt warm tears well into her closed eyes, gathering on her lashes, and she sighed again. She remembered breaking down when Kyouichi told her he was leaving to find Tatsuma – alone. She let all her frustrations out in that one instance. She had expected him to yell at her like he usually did, berating her for her lack of might and goading her to find her own personal conviction to see every trouble through. But he didn't. Instead, he agreed with her, and gave her solace. Kyouichi's voice had become so soft and tender, a tone she hadn't heard from him before, and comforted her more than anything else could have. She remembered falling against him, remembered his gentle warmth and the compassion in his words.

And now she missed him terribly. Things had settled for the time being, and all Aoi did was miss Kyouichi.

Kisaragi was also gone, and although his kindness towards her was different, she also missed having him nearby. He had been a part of her life for so long, it was surprising how different it was without him. She had been hurt when he left with Kyouichi without saying a farewell, but she tried to tell herself it was fine. Because they would come back. They would...

But she had no idea whether or not they would return with Tatsuma. Even worse than the longing and hurt was the thoughts of poor Tatsuma – thoughts that were anything but positive and warm. The last time she had seen Tatsuma was on the battlefield, and he was mostly golden light and energy. She recalled the last image she had of him, when he'd gazed back over his shoulder, yellow eyes afire, and he looked so sad. She knew what it meant; Tatsuma Hiyuu said good-bye.

The tears spilled out now, rolling down her cheeks before she could wipe them away. She didn't want to say good-bye to Tatsuma. It was unfair that she would have to. Betrayed by her grief, refusing to listen to her negative side, Aoi desperately held on to the outcome she wanted very badly. They would return, _all_ of them. She wanted to believe Kyouichi would successfully find Tatsuma, and he would be well. And everything could go back to the way it was.

And until that time, Aoi would continue to try not to worry, not to be tortured by memories and wondering. She had taken to practicing her naginata quite diligently, finding it easy to ground herself to the world around her in the sweat-filled zen of martial arts and exercise. She could focus – and forget. And be left alone since there was not an active sports club in this school for her chosen weapon. Aoi found comfort in practicing in solitude, and she often found herself taking Kyouichi's old advice not to concentrate heavily on form and traditions. She experimented with movements and stances, feeling sometimes foolish, but trying to make her skills elaborate yet strong. Sometimes it felt like a way to stay close to Kyouichi.

_Kyouichi._ His name echoed in her thoughts until her heart fluttered desolately. Sniffing back her tears, Aoi turned towards the window, watching lightning flicker, though distant now, and rain pummeling down. By the hard clinking sounds overhead, she knew it must also be hailing. She stared at the storm for a time, letting the sky cry for her. She felt empty and entirely helpless.

"Aoi?"

The echo of Komaki's voice broke her brooding stupor, and she forced a pleasant smile, though it was slight.

Komaki Sakurai set her shoes in the doorway before walking into the dojo. "Where'd this storm come from? Last I knew, it was supposed to be nothing but a light spring rain." Shaking out her wet hair, she added with mild vexation, "And I forgot my umbrella."

"Yeah, I don't have mine either. That's why I'm waiting out the storm," Aoi said with feigned cheerfulness and an obvious lie.

She saw Komaki give a sympathetic expression, convinced her best friend noticed her drawn brows and red-rimmed eyes, but Komaki made no mention. "The office is looking for you. Didn't you hear the announcement?"

"Oh." Aoi had purposefully forgotten. "It's probably just a phone call from my parents. I'll call them back later on from the dorm."

"But it might be important?"

Aoi vaguely shook her head, an implication which meant the opposite. "They're fine," was all she said. Aoi had an idea of what they probably wanted, and if she could, she would put it off as long as possible. She didn't want to leave everyone...

"Well, I came to ask if you've seen Daigo?"

"No. I haven't seen him at all today."

Komaki lowered her eyes in disappointment. "I was hoping to find him here. I know you sometimes spar together."

Aoi's lips pulled thin in a display of apologetic affirmation, but shook her head again. "Sorry."

The manner in which Komaki spoke of her boyfriend was distantly strange, as if she hadn't seen nor spoken to Daigo in years. "I hope he's alright."

"Is anything wrong?" Aoi inquired.

"He hasn't been feeling well, I guess. And he suddenly goes off on his own a lot." Komaki lowered her head dejectedly, but her eyebrows knit together in concentration and concern. It appeared as if something was weighing her thoughts, a mysterious pressure not even Komaki could comprehend. Finally she spoke again, and a grave edge crept into her voice. "I'd be lying if I said it doesn't hurt my feelings when he doesn't confide in me."

Quickly, as she typically did, Komaki brushed the seriousness away with an unnatural positivity. "I'm sure he's just trying to get used to this city, and he still misses Tokyo. It's probably nothing much. You know how I get over-protective sometimes. Right?" She looked Aoi directly in the eyes, wanting to hear agreement to her declaration.

Yet Aoi was unsure. She had noticed a new mannerism about Daigo in the last few days, an enigmatic silence that was rather deeply emotional for the former wrestling star. It almost seemed to Aoi the three of them were growing more intense in the way they refused to discuss what was on all of their minds: the Dragons of the Yin and Yang. For fear of breaking their newfound peace, each stayed quiet, and any thoughts they may have regarding matters of the Dragon Vein kept private. To Aoi, it felt wrong to hide it, but she too did not want to jinx her friends and families, or the new people they met here in Saitama City.

Finally, Aoi nodded. She knew how much Komaki wanted the battles to be over, so she decided it best to maintain a upbeat nature. Gaining her feet and wrapping an arm around her friend's shoulders, Aoi smiled more brightly. "You don't have to worry about Daigo-kun so much," she said encouragingly. "Despite everything, I'm sure he's happy here with you. He just needs more time."

"I worry about everyone," Komaki stated her feelings openly, something out of her ordinary. "I miss my parents, and I worry about my little brother. I wonder what kind of school they moved him into, you know? Daigo can't move on without knowing what happened to his father, and that worries me. And of course there's the boys..."

It was the first time Komaki mentioned their friends that were away since they moved shelters, and Aoi realized whatever issues were heavy on her mind, it did indeed have to do with their Stars of Fate. Komaki added in a dismal whisper, "If... _something_ happens to them, I don't know what we'll do."

"I know," Aoi replied in understanding. She was grateful for the brief chance to speak of it. "I wish all of us could have gone. It was so much easier to face everything, and I feel like we had nothing to fear as long as we were together."

"Yeah."

The credence of the past brought a sullen silence over the girls, who were content to share the moment of reflection without voicing the darkest outcomes their minds could fabricate. The lack of closure gnawed away on those Tatsuma left behind, and not only Aoi. She, once more, felt a connection to Komaki that went beyond being best friends. There was an undeniable destiny between them, and hearing Komaki mention the possibility of taking up arms yet again to protect made it easier for Aoi to continue with the jovial farce of being normal college students. She was glad to know she wasn't solo in pondering such a thing, and that when the time came, they would all once more face it. But only then.

After a time, Komaki found her voice again, asking with a drab curiosity, "So have you heard from Anko lately? Believe it or not, I worry about her, too." She grinned.

"No. My father promised to send me a new cell phone soon, and I'm sure once I'm able to privately text her, she'll stay in better touch. It's probably hard for her to make calls while on the road."

"She must be busy," Komaki mused.

Kyouko Touno was the only one in their little demon-buster team to have stayed in the Tokyo vicinity. She had actually managed to procure an internship with a local news crew, and the station had sent her to aid in the report of the relief efforts. The last time Aoi had heard from her, she was ecstatic over a weekend trip to Australia to interview idols at a charity concert for Tokyo's Restoration Project.

"Sometimes I can't believe she's making a career out of all the bad that's happened," Komaki said sternly. "But she was always talking about catching her big break, that scoop of a lifetime."

"It might seem trivial, but at least she's helping to spread the word about the hardships and loss to other countries," Aoi said nicely. "As political as it sounds, the finances raised will be used to help rebuild not only the city, but everyone's lives as well."

"I know you're right," Komaki conceded. "Besides, it's what she wanted to study anyway. Beats going to regular classes, I guess!"

"Komaki! We haven't even started college seriously yet," joked Aoi.

In truth, the Kokusai Junior College in Saitama had been generous to allow college-aged students to participate in credited classes, and many of the faculty were gracious enough to volunteer their time to instruct additional vocational courses after hours. It was a part of the relief work through the area schools in order to allow children to continue their education, as well as to give board to students to allow for more room at the shelters. Although it wasn't much, the dorms were cramped, and their classes were scarce and random, it made Aoi feel good to know everyone from Magami could still be normal teenagers.

"Anyway, I'd better go find Daigo before I worry myself to death," Komaki said, giving Aoi's hand on her shoulder an appreciative squeeze. "Maybe he got lost on campus. If you see him, tell him I'll be at the shelter this evening to help with the meal preps, okay?"

"Sure."

Komaki turned to leave, but hesitated. Gazing back at Aoi, her eyes were again serious and sympathetic. "Will you be alright, Aoi?"

Aoi felt the tears return, but this time it was due to a ranging mix of emotions: from appreciation, to yearning, to understanding. Quelling them, she bobbed her head in an enthusiastic nod, trying to shoulder on more of her previous strong-willed, proper self. "Don't worry about me, Komaki. Everything will be fine, I'm sure of it."

Although her expression read disbelief, Komaki shared the nod. "I'll see you later then."

Aoi waved to her departing friend, but as soon as Komaki disappeared outside, leaving her once more alone in the dojo, the enthusiasm vanished swiftly. If only she could honestly believe it, believe in this serene and passive world they had now, and the promise of a bright future. _Will things be fine? _

_Will you find him, Kyouichi?_

Remembering the hardships of before, the road map set by the Stars during the events on Mount Fuji, Aoi knew she wasn't sure of anything.

* * *

He didn't notice when it began to pour, rain droplets smattering against him fiercely, as if they were trying to bring him to his senses. He didn't feel the icy shower drench his clothing in a mere heartbeat, or the tiny pellets of hail that fell for a time. Yuuya Daigo didn't notice any of the storm – because Byakko was listening to the menacing screams in the claps of thunder, reacting to the power blossoming with every lightning bolt.

Daigo had no idea why he felt compelled to move, but before the storm had appeared he found himself walking off the Kokusai grounds and onto the streets of Saitama. There was no motivation for the ways he took, weaving around homes and choosing sidewalks almost at random. In the center of the business district he steered through crowds and cars as anyone normally would. But deep down, he knew it wasn't a random choosing, nor was he a normal pedestrian. There was something urging his steps forward, something guiding him – from inside.

He had felt it last night, the White Tiger of a sudden trying to pierce free of its Vessel. Byakko was constantly there, and always reminding Daigo of its presence by ferocious flashes of pain through his right arm, its energy literally crawling through his veins until they protruded from his skin. Once fully awakened, it was a formidable Deity, but Daigo had grown accustomed to its outbursts and used to keeping it at bay.

But last night had been greatly different. The debilitating pain in his arm had come out of nowhere, driving him out of a restless sleep, only to leave him feeling paralyzed. Perhaps worse, Daigo had sworn he could hear the roar of a dragon, the bellows pounding through his head until his skull ached and he thought it would crack. Byakko desperately tried to answer the call, and it took all of the burly wrestling champ's reserves to keep from metamorphosing. Spent, Daigo could then only pray for morning to come, but the dawn did not bring any reprieve.

Instead, he found himself too sapped of human strength to fight the spirit in his body. Although Byakko had settled, it was anxious and overwhelming. Daigo relinquished any hopes of rest, and started his day without thinking. It was like he had become a zombie, allowing his body to react to the whims of the great God, whose celestial reasoning was beyond his comprehension.

Now he found himself unable to walk any longer, and he veered off the sidewalk into a side alley between two storefronts. Almost immediately he fell back against the wet stone wall, his broad shoulders striking so hard it drove the air from his lungs. Tired and winded, Daigo slid down until he was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest and hugging himself like a hopelessly lost child.

He wondered how much longer he could take this unearthly abuse. He spent his entire youth in close-contact sports and weight training, preparing his every muscle for physical violence – to receive it, but mostly give it. And now here he was, pummeled to the mat by a pain that could neither be diagnosed nor explained, inflicted by an opponent that was neither human, nor of this world.

_Can your soul be hurt?_ he speculated pitifully, and if so, how would one go about healing it? Was it even possible, once it was broken?

He inhaled a pensive breath, feeling every nerve in his body tingle. What kind of future was he going to have so incapacitated? Daigo found he could live without wrestling or sports, but now whenever Byakko stirred and the pain in his arm flared, it made using his right hand nearly impossible. He couldn't hold a pencil to do his studies, and even the most basic of kitchen tasks proved frustratingly difficult. He almost felt like giving up on his dream of culinary school. He hated feeling so weak, hated how his body felt like it had aged and withered already.

His gaze focused on his right hand. Still the vague glow remained. He hadn't noticed it last night under such distress, but he reckoned the light started then. Something roused Byakko's fighting spirit in the cold watches of the night, and the answer was obvious.

"Tatsuma Hiyuu," he whispered aloud. Daigo heard the hollow depth of his own voice, and it sounded to him like someone already dead. "You need me, don't you?"

Was Tatsuma suffering as appallingly as he? At the horrible thought, remembering the screams he heard in the storm, he frowned unhappily. _But what can I do? _The Golden Dragon was calling to his tortured soul, yet Daigo held back. He no longer had Master Arai's wizened advice, or even Kisaragi's strategy to show him the way. There was no one there for him.

Except Komaki Sakurai. At the sudden reminder, he hugged himself tighter, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms. Her welcomed company, her comforting embrace – perhaps that's all he really needed in this world. As long as she would stay with him in his decrepit state, he would keep Byakko from rising. He would never leave her, he knew.

Even if it meant abandoning Tatsuma, still waging war with the Heavens? Daigo felt a pang of guilt, knowing how much the other teenager needed him. Tatsuma was still alive, and crying his life out. He could feel it, as sure as he felt Byakko. The Golden Dragon was calling for him, but Daigo wasn't sure he could do it –

"Oh, you there!"

Daigo jumped at the sudden, unexpected call, almost toppling over sideways. Trying to regain his composure, as well as his equilibrium, he turned towards the unfamiliar speaker at the mouth of the alleyway. And he couldn't help but to balk in renewed shock.

The petite girl was gazing at him with strange eyes, and it took Daigo a minute to realize they weren't her eyes, but rather an odd set of glasses. Dark and round-rimmed, the lenses picked up the meager light with a swirling reflection, making her appear vaguely, bizarrely, hypnotic. He couldn't seem to stop staring.

Slung over her left shoulder was a black backpack. In her right hand, the girl held the handle to a clear plastic umbrella, the top of which was decorated with small pentagrams – not a standard icon for teenagers, and seemingly too dark for the slight girl before him. Even stranger, she carried an unusually creepy ragdoll, supported as a ventriloquist would his puppet in the crook of her left arm. The pale doll stared blankly back at him with lop-sided button eyes, and its ruby red hair jutted out in twisted, unruly pigtails. It disturbed Daigo how the doll's mouth was stitched over, as if sealed shut like some hexed voodoo plaything.

Noting she finally had his attention, and his allotted time to gawk, the girl's thin lips turned up in a v-shaped grin. "Mugged or drunk?"

Daigo continued to stare at her, thoroughly taken aback. Her voice was smooth and resonant, almost withered if Daigo had to put a word to it. She had a monotone sound, her enunciation lengthy and mellow. Finally he replied with much confusion, "What?"

"Did you get mugged, or are you drunk?"

"Uh... neither."

Her forehead was covered with a thick white headband, but Daigo could still see her small eyebrows raise in query. "So what are you doing there?"

"I, uh –" Daigo shook his head, as if fending off a swarm of insects buzzing noisily about. He actually couldn't remember what exactly he'd been doing, or where he was going. But he felt suddenly foolish, and he lifted himself heavily to his feet. "Nothing," he said truthfully, sheepishly. "I was... Never mind."

As Daigo began making his way out of the passage, the girl asked, with absolutely no hint of concern, "Oh my, are you okay?"

Daigo pushed a smile to his face, but it was tiny and insincere. "Yes, thank you." He came up to tower over the stranger, but she made no effort to move aside or give him space. In the shadow of the brawny boy, the girl seemed to take on an impudent air, her grin never wavering and her eyebrows lifted expectantly. For some peculiar reason, Daigo felt she were challenging him. "I'm fine," he assured again.

"Hmm," she said in a thoughtful, drawn-out manner. "You don't look fine."

"Well..." Daigo struggled with a decent explanation, one that would make sense to some random person on the street. Or the uncanny girl before him. He had none. "Really, I am. I'm just a little tired." He added with a flick of his well-muscled arms, himself realizing how drenched he was as rainwater streamed from his hands, "And wet."

Suddenly, she thrust out her hand with the umbrella and waited. When Daigo merely looked at her hand, then back again to her face with weird glasses, she said in mild frustration, "Here. We can't share the umbrella unless you hold it. You're too tall for me."

"Oh! No, thank you," Daigo responded dumbly, holding his hands up to politely refuse the offering. "That's okay. I'm already soaked, so..."

"Take it."

There was hardly any authority in her voice, but rather the stern tone of someone not used to talking to people. Not shy, but withdrawn perhaps, the girl seemed perplexed and irritated he didn't do what she so generously presented. And as was his own way, especially around girls, Daigo took the umbrella from her hand with a quickly muttered, "Sure."

His already weary mind spinning, Daigo followed the eerie young lady down the sidewalk, not even aware they were headed back the way he had come, back towards Kokusai. He was just conscious of the umbrella in his grasp, and trying to maintain it at a level height above both of their heads, although he was more concerned with keeping the rain off the girl with him.

They walked on in silence, and Daigo's mind began to drift away as he listened to the steady, rhythmic beat of the falling rain against the slick surface of the plastic overhead. The natural song was tranquil, but the peaceful tune only made Daigo feel more anxious. Once again, he shook his head. He couldn't let his mind wander off right now; he couldn't listen to Byakko's urging.

Instead, curiously, Daigo let his eyes wander down towards the girl. Now that she had both hands free, she hugged the doll close, hands cradling the stuffed fabric to her chest. The dramatic bob-cut of her hair made the length point away from her round face, giving her inexplicable, almost ghastly cherub-like features. Despite the short front, a thin ponytail dangled away from her back. From the side, he could almost see her actual eyes, but only enough to see the heavy eyeliner around their almond-shapes. He could also tell she was staring straight ahead, and there was a blankness to her whole face. It struck him that she was more of an introvert, constantly up in her own head.

Right now, Daigo could appreciate that.

As if sensing his thoughts, she said softly, "Are you falling in love with me?"

Blushing, Daigo tore his eyes away from her with an awkward gasp. She giggled strangely, and there was something about her cheeky jesting, as vague and freaky as it seemed, that reminded him greatly of Anko. At the similarity, he also sensed another likeness about her – the enigmatic attitude of all-knowing.

Anko always vocally touted her facts and figures, empowered by her sharp wit, thorough research, and memorized knowledge. This girl was reserved and hushed, but Daigo could clearly sense she knew more than she let on. Even by the way in which she spoke, in the faraway voice that sounded aged beyond her small years, Daigo could sense her intelligence; there was something extremely shamanic about her.

"You should be careful," the girl suddenly added in her queer, emotionless voice. "If you go stumbling around alleys, you might run into trouble. You're lucky I found you first."

_Found me?_ He didn't know why those words caught in his head. It almost felt dire. Trying to sound grateful, Daigo merely said, "I can take care of myself."

"Yeah, that's what the muscles are for, right?"

A part of Daigo felt complimented, and yet another side vaguely slapped him with remorse and resentment. There were times where all his physical prowess meant nothing, because all too often he couldn't protect the things that were the most important to him. When he was young, strength meant power, but now... Now, he didn't want to be simply brawn. Brawn threw a punch without thinking, and reacted to situations with brute force – and no understanding. Daigo didn't know whether or not there was actually more to himself than that, but he hoped there would be.

Sensing his seething quietude, the girl retracted, "Or maybe not."

She finally titled her head to look at her traveling companion, but whatever she was thinking was perfectly masked behind her eerie façade. Daigo didn't bother to meet her eyes or reply to her comment. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the sidewalk, watching their feet splash in the puddles of the wet cement, melancholy.

But what she said next stopped him dead in his tracks. "I know who you are."

There was something in the tone of her voice, the reminder of how she seemed to raise a challenge between them, that sounded a mental alarm. Cautiously, Daigo watched as she turned around to once more face him.

She smiled her oddball smile. "Yuuya Daigo. Isn't that right?"

Without thinking, he nodded in affirmation. A tremble went up his right arm instinctively, and Daigo clutched his hand into a tight fist, staying his power. He was apprehensive, but there was nothing threatening about the girl before him. In fact, she childishly squealed when she realized she was out in the rain, covering her doll's head with her hand and dashing back to his side.

Once more under the umbrella, she jabbed a hand at him and said frankly, "Hello. I'm Misa Uramitsu." Mutely, Daigo took her outstretched hand in one of his own, shaking it automatically. "Nice to meet you. And this is Makoto." She offered one of the doll's nubby arms, and Daigo shook its hand as well.

"How do you know me?"

Grinning idly at his suspicion, Misa replied, "I went to Magami Academy, too."

"Really?" Blinking back his astonishment, he tried to recall if there was a Misa Uramitsu in any of his classes, clubs, or events. But of course there was no goth girl in his memories; he was positive this girl would stand out, and then some. Daigo imagined she probably kept herself hidden away in her goth world. So he could only answer with a polite nod. She shrugged nonchalantly, walking onward.

"Are you also staying at the Kokusai college?"

"No, I'm with my parents at the shelter in Shiraoka. I'm headed to Kokusai, though."

"Why?" Daigo couldn't stop the hint of distrust from reaching his voice. He still didn't like the all-knowing, ubiquitous aura she had, a sensation that was growing faster the longer he was in her presence.

But if she thought him rude or prying, she didn't seem to care. "Actually, I need to find Maria Alucard."

"Miss Alucard?" Confusion took hold again. His old homeroom teacher? "Why?"

"I'm not entirely sure." Now there was something sinister edging her words, and Misa's entire demeanor seemed to sink in on itself. Her brow furrowed, and a sense of dark forbearance came upon her. She was quiet for a moment, but then she said in an uneasy, baleful tone, finally showcasing true emotion in her voice, "But I need to talk to her. It's like that alleyway, you know? Sometimes there's serious trouble – unless the right person finds you first."

* * *

Komaki didn't want to admit it to anyone, but her troubled thoughts were overwhelming her. She couldn't concentrate on studies, entrance exams, schedules, or volunteer work because it was all too mundane, almost trivial to her now. Her mind continued to focus strictly on the people in her intimate life, those most important to her. How could she bother herself with plans for the future when Daigo and Aoi were so distraught and unable to move forward? How could she go on alone?

With a deeply brooding sigh, Komaki stared out at the Kokusai grounds as she stood just atop the stairs of the main hall. The rain had died down to a dreary, misting drizzle, but the clouds were still dense and grey above; they had not seen the last of the storm. If she was going to make it to the shelter before the Heaven's let loose another tempest, she'd best leave now. As much as she didn't feel like going, especially without Daigo, she had made the obligation. And so, she zippered up her slicker and trekked down the stone flight.

_I wonder where Daigo-kun has gone to,_ she thought to herself sadly, a mild frustration growing as she yanked up the hood of her raincoat. _He used to always tell me things, everything... _But lately, no one was talking to her much at all. They were shutting themselves up inside, shutting down – but Komaki also felt like they were shutting her out.

Komaki understood they were all worried, and there was still much for each of them to get accustomed to. They'd been through much in the last few months, too much for ordinary high school students, and the whole affair still frightened her. If the world could turn upside down so suddenly, who was to say it wouldn't happen again, and again? The very idea made her leery. It also angered her, and whenever Daigo or Aoi would retreat into their own feelings of hopelessness, Komaki almost felt... abandoned.

She hated herself for such a selfish feeling, but she couldn't help it, or make it go away. She missed them, how they used to be, and she missed her family. It was hard to try and grow up into a normal, adjusted adult when the adulthood that was thrust on her was one she hadn't anticipated – couldn't even have imagined before the collapse of Tokyo. She had been excited to graduate high school and start college, but that was before.

And the times of before had fallen to ruins just like her hometown, and she was left to pick up the pieces of what was left behind. Sometimes she felt like what was left amounted to nothing at all, except Daigo and Aoi. And they were abandoning her...

So in the end, she decided to focus on giving to the relief aide, volunteering her time to those who had even less than she did. She hoped by doing so it would make her feel better, if at least forget. Komaki was certain she was still being selfish by devoting herself and blindly following whatever future path opened up from it, but right now she didn't care. She just wanted to forget.

She just wanted the hardships to be truly over. For as long as she could, Komaki wanted to pretend the story of the Stars of Fate and the Golden Dragon had ended.

As she plodded through the immense puddles the storm had created, Komaki turned the bend, crossing over the cobblestone sidewalk of the campus and onto the cement of the city streets. As she made her way towards the business district, she finally lifted her gaze and focused on the world around her. And started when she saw her boyfriend walking towards her.

"Daigo-kun!" she called, feeling all her lifeless, emotional baggage drain away at his unexpected appearance. As bothered as Komaki had been when he'd disappeared, her mood lightened at finding him again .

"Sakurai-san?" He seemed vaguely surprised at seeing her, but suddenly relief passed through his wide eyes.

Planting her fists on her hips in feigned annoyance, Komaki opened her mouth to ask where he'd gone, but quickly noticed he wasn't alone. He held an umbrella high enough to keep the rain off not only himself, but a quizzical looking, smaller girl. When Daigo noticed she'd taken in the sight of his companion, his expression sagged into one of comedic disdain; the look he gave Komaki was one that said, "Help me."

Now curious, Komaki strode forward, unable to stop staring at the girl's peculiar glasses and morbid doll. Remembering to smile pleasantly, Komaki dipped her torso in a slight bow and greeted, "Hello there."

The girl beamed in an astute way, her smile not friendly, but sharp and intuitive. And rather freakish. "Hello back," she returned, bowing deeply at the waist.

"Ah, Sakurai-san," Daigo began the introduction, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, "This is Misa Uramitsu."

"Nice to meet you. I'm –"

"Komaki Sakurai."

Arching a brow in chary query, Komaki's eyes flicked to Daigo briefly, but long enough to catch the slanted grin he gave her, full of a dubious acknowledgment. Obviously, he'd gotten more than a taste of the creepy girl's overbearing strangeness. "You know my name?"

"Of course. Like I was telling your boyfriend," Misa started simply, gaining a gawk from the pair, "I went to Magami Academy, the same as the both of you. Class 3-B, however."

"Oh!" Komaki forced a tone of recognition to her voice, even though she had no clue who this girl was. "Sure. I suppose you remember me from the archery tournaments?"

Even though Misa nodded, her reply was, "I am actually the manager of the Occult Research Club."

Daigo gasped a bewildered "geh!" as Komaki's jaw dropped slightly. She asked without thinking, "Our school had an occult club?"

"Dear me, yes," Misa scoffed in a professional way. She leaned in towards Komaki, her elbow jabbing slightly as she said in a hushed, secretively informed manner, "Don't you think Magami needed one?"

Komaki and Daigo shared a strong look. At the implication, both of them knew Misa had not been aware of their identities thanks to their sports events, but because of what they did outside the Magami grounds. Occult Research. She _had_ to have known about their Demon-Buster Club, as Anko liked to refer to it. Even stronger was her wording; Misa had same _I am_, and Komaki had to ponder her reason for being there with Daigo. If she still maintained her duties, even with Magami laying in ruins in the wasteland that was now Tokyo, what was the possibility a supernatural purpose was the reason for her visit?

Komaki shook her head, trying to fend off the realization. _Why ever she's here has nothing to do with us,_ she told herself deftly. She didn't want to remember it anymore...

Picking up on her uneasiness, Daigo replied in jest, "Magami wasn't _that_ strange!" And then he flushed, looking as if he'd swallowed his tongue for having insulted Misa and her area of expertise.

Instead the girl gave a humoring smirk. "I suppose not, but it sure has history."

"So Misa," Komaki said quickly, wanting to change the subject, "how do you know Daigo?"

"I don't. I just found him."

"You found him?" She turned to Daigo, and an unusual twinge of jealousy stabbed her; Komaki hated to think that some stranger had been helping him when she always made herself readily available for him. "Were you lost, Daigo-kun?"

All the flippant teasing and awkwardness drained swiftly from Daigo's face, and his eyes clouded over in a reminiscent way. The strongly built young man before her seemed to fade away, and he looked entirely exhausted and bedraggled. Komaki felt her heart drop into her stomach, the fretful worry once more blossoming in her chest. Daigo shook his head, as if there was something he didn't want to talk about in front of Misa. _He probably doesn't even want to talk about it with me..._

At the sudden, dark change in mood, Misa Uramitsu said decisively, "Well, I can see you two are busy." She snatched her umbrella out of Daigo's limp grasp. "As am I." She bowed a farewell to Komaki, her Cheshire Cat grin spreading beguilingly across her round face.

She started towards Kokusai Junior College, and at first Komaki wondered why she was heading to their new school, but the thought broke when Misa turned back around. Unsure of where her swirly gaze was settled, Komaki tensed at what the girl said, addressing Daigo as her parting words to him.

"Don't go wandering around alone, Daigo-san. You remember what I said?" Yuuya Daigo nodded as if by reflex. "And remember also, when someone calls, you have to answer."

Then she leaned her umbrella against her shoulder, freeing her hands enough to make her doll wave goodbye to the two teenagers in her perceptive, insinuating wisdom. As Misa departed, Komaki turned her baffled stare to Daigo.

And he looked back at her miserably.

* * *

"I don't know," she heard herself say levelly. But the frantic thought that shot through her mind was, _I can't possibly!_

Over the phone in the dorm lobby, Aoi listened to her father's professional voice as she gazed at herself in the decorative mirror hanging on the opposite wall. She stared at her reflection as if she were looking at a complete stranger. The girl's eyes were large and glassy, a slight cloudy paleness to the color of the right eye, no doubt a result of some medical condition. The face was haggard, pretty features drawn into a shocked mask of doleful hopelessness. Aoi didn't know who that girl in the reflection was anymore.

Her father was saying, "It's a great opportunity for you, and your mother and I would really like to get you as far away from Tokyo as possible. It could still be dangerous, and the government may only keep moving the survivors."

"But –" She wracked her brain for something to counter his rationale. "But what about the costs?"

"Well, I know I've donated a lot to the relief effort, but I'm also getting a lot back with the insurance on the estate and belongings. You really don't have to worry about that, Aoi. You're our only daughter, and we only want the very best for you."

"But I don't want –" She caught herself. "I mean, can I think about it?"

"What's to think about? It's a fantastic opportunity and great for your future."

The tone in his voice was firm, and Aoi snapped her mouth shut so abruptly she heard her teeth clink together. All she could think was that it was her responsibility to her family. She was Aoi Misato, and she had her parent's standards to uphold. It didn't matter what she wanted.

Tears sprang to her eyes, and this time she made no effort to wipe them away, even if the other students stared. She couldn't stand it anymore...

Her father kept talking, but she no longer heard his words. All she thought was how badly she missed Kyouichi, and how badly she didn't want to leave him. If she left now, would she ever see him again? Would she ever know if he eventually returned from China? And what about Tatsuma? It wasn't fair.

_But I don't want to attend college in America..._

* * *

**Notes: **As far as I know, Misa Uramitsu's creepy doll does not have a name, so I've affectionately named it after Misa's seiyuu Makoto Tsumura.

Chapter is titled after lyrics from the © ACID song _NOW_, track five on their CD album "ACID 1.5 -Punk Drunker-". All copyrights reserved and no infringement is intended.


	5. Awakened by the Resounding Voice

**_Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou _****「****_Saigo no Butai_****」**

**Chapter 4 - Awakened by the Resounding Voice**

_It never changes. The world never changes._

Well, it wasn't so much the world that couldn't change; it was the humans that would never change it. Over and over again, he had to watch each and every one continue the same irrational history, like the endless turning of a wheel. He was forced to see the faces change, to witness the generations pass from one person to the next; clans and families bred like the hutch of pet rabbits he used to keep, children continuing on in their parents' footsteps. And none of them throughout the long years were ever able to change themselves.

He never really believed in the all-pervading notion of Fate. Perhaps because it never pertained to his own existence? But the stars were true, and just as mankind couldn't alter, neither could the stars. The heavenly bodies kept their dictated place in the sky, following the same seasonal course in repetition, over and over again. Just like man on Earth.

With a heavily jaded sigh, Morihito Inugami lifted his face to the deep evening sky, but no stars could be seen tonight. The storm which had earlier vented its fury still hung low, murky clouds rolling above. But he didn't need to see the stars to know they were exactly as they had been last night. Bright and steadfast, beautiful even. But still the same.

_It never changes. The wheel will keep turning, and everything remains the same, as it should._ Just like his promise, it would never be broken.

Inugami raised his hand, expecting a final drag on his cigarette, but only found the filter remaining. Had he seriously spent that much time lost in thought? To him, time was irrelevant, but it still passed swiftly. Pursing his lips unhappily, he flicked the useless stub away and draped his arms over his knees. Sitting on the stairs to the old Magami school building, he carelessly heaved another sigh and wondered where he'd find more cigarettes. There were no more teachers to leech off of, or students to confiscate from. Everyone was gone, herded out of the devastated metropolis and away from further danger.

Actually, he knew not _everybody_ had left. Some were either incapable of leaving, still requiring a rescue, or stubbornly refusing to go. Often he had to defend his keep from various, shady pillagers seeking treasures from the estate-esque building, or vagrant squatters in need of shelter. Inugami had bloodied his hands again on numerous occasions since the collapse of Tokyo, driven to fiercely protect the grounds when he must; there were bodies buried in the surrounding woods. And he didn't care. These were wretches no one would miss, and he had a vow to uphold. It had been a _long_ time since he'd been restrained on a leash.

The only times he had to control himself were when the military came searching. Every now and then, a rescue squad would come to Magami, looking for more civilians to usher from the remains. Because all the school buildings had walls which still stood, like a hopeful beacon to people injured and wanting, they didn't come just once to inspect; the government came knocking at least weekly, almost like clockwork. With those men, Inugami merely kept hidden, waiting and watching as always. Dutifully, the soldiers arrived and left with no troubles.

Staring at the apocalyptic-created gorge ahead, Inugami's eyes fixed on the rope bridge over the chasm, the only means to now approach, connecting the old grounds to the new. It was his only company, and today it brought him no one. Sometimes he would rather find trouble waiting, especially now that his only form of humanly entertainment was gone. He dropped his gaze to the litter of cigarette butts at his feet, wistful.

The air lifted, a breeze stirring through the remaining branches and brush of the forest. It steadily grew into a cold spring wind, nipping at his flesh. He heard the pained creaking of the trees forced to sway, threatening to bend, and the plaintive moaning of the bridge rustling on its ropes, echoing hollowly over the crack in the earth. An owl began to hoot its mellow song, roused from its slumber after an evening of feeding. All the twilight insects became silent in turn. The rich scent of wet dirt, heady moss, and fresh water filled his nostrils, and he could taste another storm coming.

But something else came to his heightened senses. It made his nose tingle with every breath, and left a numbing aftertaste in his mouth. It gave his human body goose-bumps, the same feeling as making his hackles rise in the olden days. It was the prickly sensation of power mounting, and Inugami rose to his feet warily.

It was strange. The aura shift was definitely apparent, but none of the natural world seemed concerned. The owl's soliloquy was unbroken, and the woods were not full of quiet warning. Every element still flowed in harmony, undisturbed. _So you're not evil, huh?_ As if it mattered to him one way or the other.

Yet Inugami relaxed, mindlessly shoving his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. As if in answer to his comfortable gesture, the wind drifted harder, the invisible waves lapping towards him, seeking him. The close-crop of his hair caught in the reaching air, and he felt the power brush across his square features.

He sniffed to himself, bemused. He said mordantly, "You're a tease, aren't you?"

Then the voice came, singing, distantly hushed and soothing. It was a woman's voice, humming a forlorn melody that touched something inside the unsentimental Inugami, empathizing with the part of his true being he kept masked. Sometimes he didn't even remember it, only adhering to the promise, so strong was its spell. But it was there, deep down – the memory of her beautiful face, golden hair, and regretful eyes. It was the image of the one who had raised him so very, very long ago.

The message in the lullaby was clear. This spirit and he were similar.

Now the wind pulled at him, beckoning, changing direction as it did so. Inugami followed its course, turning about to face the old Magami building. He knew she wasn't inside; he would have immediately sensed the foreign presence. She must be in the back of the building, within the woods. Without urgency, he began making his way around the structure, mind caught on the subtle, sad tune. His eyes nevertheless narrowed suspiciously behind the slight lenses of his glasses, gaze hunting through the darkness for any telltale signs of danger.

His weighty footfalls were muted by the damp ground, and the rainwater began to soak into the fabric of his clothing from the tall grasses and weeds. He paid it no heed, inhaling sharply on the stiff scent of supernatural energy. As he moved steadily towards the thicket beyond the unkempt grounds, a frail mist began swirling off the drenched earth, vague and enervated. The song grew louder, the lovely voice resounding off the hallow forest around Magami.

Suddenly, Inugami heard a faint sound, like the delicate flapping of a bird's wings. A beautifully light snap echoed, and then he saw a glimpse of white floating ahead. Round and round the image whirled elegantly, slowly, drawing him closer. He lost sight at every circular turn of the ghost-like movement as the person flowed smoothly around the trees. And then he came upon her, the gorgeous young woman dancing to her own melody.

Fluttering against the ground in rhythmic motions, her pale-colored robes trailed and twirled about her with every step of the traditional dance. The white fan in her hand smoothly dipped and curved with finesse and talent, beating in time like a paper butterfly aloft. Her voice reverberated through his head with graceful pitch, her humming now seeming loud in the closeness of the night. Turning, turning, she flowed effortlessly in unison with the grieving lullaby. Her eyes remained closed during the dance, confidently relaxed and comfortably skilled, her stunning face serene. Her skin was as pale as her robes, almost lustrous in the growing dim of the night, while her hair was as dark as the night itself.

Her actual steps were noiseless, even during the height of her performance, and the mist appeared to partner her dance. Inugami watched as if in a trance, a moth to a flame. It had been quite awhile since he'd seen a _Nihonbuyou _so perfected. Yet suspicion still gnawed at him even in his quelled fixation. He couldn't recall how, but he knew her...

And he knew what she was.

As the last note of her song ebbed away, she lowered herself with poise, properly bowing at the close of her enticing dance. She brought her fan forward, as if in prayer, and daintily drew the folds closed, solemn. For a moment, there was silence.

Then the lady opened her eyes, large and glassy behind heavily curling lashes, and smiled. She rose to her feet, lightly tossing her long hair over one shoulder, as Inugami gave her a courteous applaud of a few claps of his hands.

Her pretty smile deepened. "It's been a long time, _inugami_."

"Indeed it has... _shikigami_ ." He grinned at both of their astuteness, but he did not bother to dredge up his memories any further. "Forgive me, but I cannot remember your name."

"That's fine. It's Fuyou." She bowed as if they were first introduced.

"Mm," said Inugami, stuffing his hands back into his pockets. "And what brings you here?"

"I've been sent by my master, since he is unable to visit himself."

"Really? And what does the boy want from me?"

Her eyes sparkled sharply. "Information on some of your recent students."

Amused and subtly intrigued, Morihito Inugami shook his head at her. "I don't pay much attention to the human children. Very rarely do any of them differ or stand out." He turned and started back towards his keep, knowing she would follow.

Fuyou folded her hands, ladylike, and calmly walked behind him. Her voice was like a strong echo hounding his steps. "But I think the names I need are already on the tip of your tongue."

He chuckled thickly. Despite his distrust and uncaring, he realized there would be no fooling with the spirit; under the shadow of her disguise, she was still of the same intuitive realm as he, beyond human emotions and earthly wickedness. "What do you want to know about them?"

Now her voice took on a heavy seriousness which made Inugami glance at Fuyou over his shoulder; her eyes were direct, and full of warning. "Where are they?"

"That I wouldn't know."

"I'm well aware you cannot leave this place," said Fuyou, a softness to her voice that almost mocked him, so void were her emotions, "yet I'm sure you can still help us."

"Look, shikigami," Inugami declared flatly, growing bored. "The government took the Magami kids away, as I'm sure they made your master leave. I couldn't possibly even _begin_ to guess where they are at this very moment."

"Then who would?"

With a sigh, Inugami gazed once more back up towards the sky. Although he could not see them, he knew by the troubled tone of her direct query what her arrival heralded. He listlessly lamented, "So the Stars are moving again, huh..."

As they approached Old Magami, Fuyou fell into a reserved silence, allowing him a moment to reflect. He'd only spoken the truth before, but Fuyou was right – he _did_ know. None of what occurred in the great, wide world was really any of his business, but in the end, it also didn't matter whether or not he helped. So he gave her the name of the nosey girl in his homeroom who had always proved the most interesting, and sometimes, oddly, the most sympathetic towards him.

"Find Kyouko Touno. She will have the information you need." Leaning over, he aimlessly chose a cigarette stub off the ground, rolling it between his fingers in growing tedium. "You might also pay a visit to Sakuragaoka Hospital, if you can. I'm sure your master knows the place."

"Yes, as do I." Fuyou bowed deeply with respectable gratitude. "Thank you." She turned to go, just as Inugami fell into ignoring her, feeling as if their meeting had concluded. But she half-turned back around, and said, "When Evil rises, it tends to have many faces."

"This I know."

"It also has many objectives. Please be careful."

"Don't concern yourself about me."

Fuyou made a soft sound of understanding, and smiled rather sadly. "Then guard Magami well, Inugami-sensei."

She began to leave once more, but this time it was Morihito Inugami's voice that halted their parting. He asked without hope or commitment, "Should you ever stop by again, perhaps you might do me just one favor?"

"Sir?"

"I could use some more smokes."

* * *

Maria Alucard was not surprised to see Misa Uramitsu again, but she couldn't exactly say she was excited at their reunion.

Of course she was pleased the girl was safe. Maria had decided to devote her days to minding the children from Magami Academy, even taking on the role of friend or parent for the poor students that had lost their own in the tragic events. She had inexplicably grown fond of the teenagers, despite her many, many years of loathing humankind. Perhaps she'd been humbled after so long a time in vengeance, a life of hiding and hurting. And now she _did_ genuinely care.

But Misa was a strange one, and Maria was wary of her sudden appearance. For a wide array of reasons.

Leading the girl through the halls of Kokusai, she said nicely, "I can't imagine why you would need to talk to me, Misa-chan. Aren't your parents well?"

Misa gave one of her freaky grins, a stifled tee-hee reverberating from between her lips. "They're fine, Miss Alucard."

Maria arched a brow as she gazed at the child from over her shoulder. The manner in which Misa replied was a typical way, a statement made because she felt it were the appropriate response. Her voice held the mechanical tone of a student stating roll-call. And Maria knew why – they were still in the open hallways, too public a place for Misa to speak candidly.

The former Magami teacher had to suppress a frustrated groan. _That means she's here for the Occult Club. Just my luck..._

Out loud, she replied with the same level of casual appropriation, "That's good to hear. Be sure to give them my regards when you see them next."

"I will, Miss Alucard." Misa's voice seemed to drop to a lower, more frank decibel. "It might not be for a while, though."

"Eh?" The confused sound almost gave way to the frustrated groan.

Reaching the staff lounge, Maria slid the door opened. She automatically did a quick scan of the room to make certain it was empty before allowing the girl to enter. Most of the other teachers and volunteers had already gone home for the night, while any still working were away conducting their evening classes. Maria Alucard and Misa Uramitsu could talk alone for awhile.

As soon as Maria slid the door closed, the frame rapping with enunciated solitude against the baseboard, Misa set her doll on the nearest desk and slung her backpack off her shoulder. As she anticipated, the girl wasted no more time with frivolity and small talk. "I have something I would like you to See."

"_See_?" Scratching the side of her nose with one long fingernail in an earnest desire to play dumb, Maria said, "You mean one of your seer rituals?" Again, the creepy giggle answered her. "Misa-chan, when are you going to give up on this witch hunt against me? I swear, I'm perfectly normal."

No matter how many times she said it, Maria knew the Occult Club mistress would never believe her. It was an outright lie, of course, because Teacher Alucard was _far_ from normal, but in no instant had Maria ever let her true identity slip to any of the students. She had always been suspicious of the humans herself, and had grown accustomed to minding her tongue, tending her own affairs, and keeping her private life private. She'd had so many years to practice being secretive.

But for as secretive as Maria had become, Misa had adapted to being the sleuth. The oddball girl was a self-titled supernatural detective, and her Occult Club was often holed up in their own room, pondering and researching. Their studies were not simply a passing hobby of introverted misfits and Gothic loners; the group was intelligent, in-depth, and usually right-on-the-money. Such was the case with Maria Alucard and her elusive background.

Where Misa had ever gotten the notion to investigate her in the first place, Maria had no idea. Surely, she hadn't given away any clues. Yet one day, there was Misa, inviting her to the Occult Club's discussions, asking questions, and beguiling with her innuendo. Maria had tried to blow her off at first, but her relentless presence led the teacher to attempt at humoring her, like a mother might humor their child talking about a silly fairytale. Finally, she turned to professional ignorance, avoiding Misa whenever possible – and being subtly rude when it was impossible.

And still, here she was again. Like the plague. A part of Maria wanted to throw up her hands in defeat and tell the girl everything, just to beg her to go away. But ultimately her hands were tied, and so she continued to act the practiced teacher, proper and pleasant.

As Misa began clearing a large section of the desk, she responded unassumingly, "This time is isn't about you."

Relief washed over Maria, but as the nervous tide passed, intrigue took its place. "Then what did you want to talk about?"

The zipper on her backpack was piercingly loud as Misa suddenly drew it open. "First, please take a look at this." And she pulled out a round, black mirror.

Maria Alucard had a vague inspiration of what was about to transpire, and she felt her heart flutter with a sort of apprehensive interest. Misa lay the Scrying Mirror lightly on the tabletop, then circled her hands above it as if to make certain the distance between it and the standard equipment left on the desk was adequate. She next motioned for Maria to join her.

As the teacher drew closer, Misa quickly pounced towards the wall, snapping the overhead light off with a decisive flip of the switch; Maria got the impression Misa felt she'd turn and run if given too much time to back out. _She knows me well, _she thought, bemused and reminiscent.

Turning to face the black mirror, Maria looked down on its softly glossy surface. She could see her reflection in the polished blackness, faded. It was a weird, hazy likeness seen in the world of the Scrying Mirror, flat ebony yet clear as glass. For a moment, it looked as if an ancient ripple brushed across the smooth surface, but the flicker of movement vanished; she wondered if she'd actually seen it at all. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the doll limply sitting, its head focused downward toward the glass. The eerie display made Maria shiver gently.

Misa quietly moved to the corner of the desk, gazing at the mirror from a distant angle. With her glasses on, Maria couldn't tell if her eyes were closed or not, but the girl began mumbling to herself, the words so hushed they were indiscernible. Maria wasn't entirely uncertain it was manufactured mumbo jumbo, but then she had to be fair and claim ignorance on Neo-pagan beliefs.

Reciting her ritual spell in an uncanny whisper, Misa's body language never altered. The drone of her voice was neither frightening, nor soothing, and there was a distant tremor of something wise in her muttering; whenever she set to a séance or spell, Misa sounded strangely like an old shaman woman. It never failed to unnerve most around her.

Giving the teacher no inkling of changing posture or prose, Maria turned to watch the mirror instead. It seemed to be reflecting the dismal light back like an ebony prism. Maria swallowed, feeling her muscles pull hard in a gulp despite herself.

Suddenly, Maria's reflection blurred, then distorted completely. It washed away, leaving behind the image of a building surrounded by trees, sakura in full bloom. She felt as if they were floating above the estate, an aerial tour of the property she felt she should know. Notwithstanding the grandeur in the size of the building and the beauty of the cherry blossoms, there was something wasted and dead-looking about the place. Maria tried to decipher the scene, to draw it from her memories...

Yet the vision didn't last but a mere heartbeat.

A shadow came upon it so swiftly, it was almost dangerous. Maria felt a cold nausea sluice her stomach, a rushing sense of darkness attacking them, and wondered if the shadow was a part of Misa's ritual – or an outside threat.

She jumped when Makoto involuntarily fell over.

The shadow began to coil around the surface of the Scyring Mirror, like light glittering off of hematite. It moved in a circular pattern, but soon a part of it broke away, countering with its own wheel. For a split second, Maria thought she saw the Taoist Taijitu, thought she heard a ghastly scream and beastly roar –

But quickly Misa gasped, grabbed a nearby coffee mug someone forgot about, and threw the remaining liquid onto the mirror's flat surface. Maria pulled away from the splash-back of cold tea, and the slap of tinted water shattered the revelation as if the mirror were crushed into shards. Then, silence.

In the sudden quiet, Maria realized her heart was racing. In the darkness, the memory came back to her. "That was the old Magami school, wasn't it?"

"Yes." Walking as if her body were now heavy, Misa went and turned on the lights. "I'm glad you saw it, too. Sometimes the Mirror won't predict if someone isn't a believer." She retrieved her doll, hugging Makoto to her chest and her v-shaped grin returning. "But I knew I could count on you."

"Well," Maria said, picking up on the girl's implication but expressly avoiding it, "I saw, but I don't understand. You came to talk about our old school grounds?"

Misa nodded apathetically, plopping down into one of the vacant chairs. Planting her fists on her curvy hips, Maria waited expectantly. Finally Misa asked, "Didn't you see?"

"The ying-yang?"

"The Dragons."

Maria began to shake her head negatively, but then... she couldn't be certain what exactly she saw from the shadow vision. And what did it matter? "What is this all about, Misa-chan?"

Misa sighed deferentially, removing her glasses and rubbing her tired eyes in a stark show of distress. The teacher ogled slightly, trying to recall if she'd ever seen the goth student without her swirly, weird glasses before; she actually looked like a pretty schoolgirl for once.

"Sometimes," Misa forecasted slowly, as if trying to pick her words carefully, "a call can echo for a long time, and an echo can be heard by many from afar. Sometimes, it can be heard by someone who shouldn't have heard at all."

There was that ghostly, shamanic voice speaking again, betraying the visage of the young girl. Even in her own puzzlement, Maria sensed a dire mystification from Misa as well. It was as if the teen was afraid to know the truth herself, rather staying lost in vague predictions and ambiguous higher meanings. Maria Alucard couldn't help but to clinch her arms together, sheltering herself, sensing some wickedness in the grave tone. She felt their meeting was a herald of another shadow to come.

Misa replaced her glasses, pushing them securely up the bridge of her nose, and then fixed Miss Alucard within her hypnotic gaze. There was a fervor about the mysterious teenager which felt like a call to arms, and Maria gave an anxious start.

All pretense aside, Misa said, "Someone we both know at Old Magami is in trouble, and I'm not so sure if he can handle the threat alone. Will you help me?"

* * *

**Note: **The title of this chapter is a creative translation from part of the lyrics to the © ACID song _Under the Shadows_ from their "Pray for the Future" album. Original Japanese lyrics and composition by Daisuke Sato with all rights reserved. No infringement is intended.


	6. Zaisei

**_Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou _****「****_Saigo no Butai_****」**

**Chapter 5 - Zaisei**

_Ryuuji Yashiro. My name is Ryuuji Yashiro. _He silently repeated the litany over and over again to himself, holding fast to his name as if it were absolutely the only thing he had left. In fact, without it, he felt as if he weren't even _real_, like he was just another shadow in the blackness. But no matter how many times he said it, no matter how definite the thought of his own name sounded to him, it faded into a single word in his head. _Chaos._

_Ryuuji __– My name is Ryuuji Yashiro. _

The blackness was merciless, the far reaches of his own mind telling him that he was wrong. His name was Chaos. His very existence was disorder and destruction.

_That's not true!_ he finally shot back. He didn't know to whom he spoke, if it were just his subconscious toying with him or a demon from his past, but until now he'd been ignoring it with the best of intention. But he was surprised to hear himself angry. Ryuuji was still not used to feeling emotional, and sometimes it caused him to be sensitive; it was mostly when something made him mad since anger was the first true emotion he'd been introduced to.

And the other voice in his head had been loudly relentless, triggering his building frustrations. _I have a name. Ryuuji Yashiro. My name isn't Chaos, that was never my real name!_

_Then who was Chaos?_

Ryuuji fell quiet. Who indeed? He didn't know anymore. Ever since he met Tatsuma Hiyuu, he had no idea who he was, nor who he had been. There was a time not so long ago where he had been proud to be Chaos; he was proud of his newly awakened mind-powers, and the ruthlessness it brought him. The violence, although not by his own hand, had been the first reality in his life – a life that had until then been nothing but mindless and redundant actions of a mundane, trivial world.

He did what he was told, he acted as he was expected to, everything anyone was supposed to do, but only because he felt he ought to. He'd been born crippled, and he spent his childhood in and out of hospitals, feeling empty and lifeless. He eventually stopped feeling, but continued the monotonous routine of living.

Being Chaos had finally made him feel alive. Manipulating people, watching others die, it had finally given him a stimulation he had never before experienced. So he went with the game, always pleased to know he would be the winner in the end.

And in the end, it just stopped. The stimulation and elation just ceased to exist. And with it, his parents and home, too. Tokyo had fallen, and his mother and father had died, crushed when his neighborhood had collapsed into a precipice. Was that what it meant to _feel_ like a winner?

Is that how he made Tatsuma Hiyuu feel when he had his foster parents killed?

_But that wasn't me,_ he protested, even though his conscience knew differently. _That was Chaos! It was never the real me!_

_Then who are you? Who is Ryuuji Yashiro, if he's not Chaos?_

He didn't know. He had hoped he would discover himself with Tatsuma Hiyuu, the boy who let him express rage; the boy who told him he would make him laugh next. Ryuuji had been profoundly insulted by Tatsuma at first, especially when he discovered it wasn't part of his predictable game. But now, all he wanted was to follow wherever Tatsuma went, in hopes of finding out who he truly was – or could be.

_But Tatsuma Hiyuu is dead._ Ryuuji gasped in surprise at the stark notion, but he was unsure whether or not to believe it. _There is no Tatsuma Hiyuu any longer. Now there is only the Golden Dragon, and you are the Yin. You are Chaos._

The blackness began creeping closer, tightening around him until he thought he was suffocating. _No,_ he said, still unsure. _It's not true. He isn't dead!_

_It is true. If you want to follow him, you must become his Yin._

The Shadow of the Yang, the other half of the Golden Dragon? But that was impossible. He had lost all of his powers back at Mount Fuji, they were stolen by Munetaka Yagyuu. His part in that epic fate had ended back then... didn't it?

Suddenly the blackness rushed him, and Ryuuji felt it blanket him like a fog until it was all he saw, all he breathed, his entire world. He tried screaming, but the dark choked out his voice. The one in his head told him it was useless because no one was there to even hear him; no one was left who would even care. Ryuuji could do nothing but stop struggling and let it envelope him. Yin and Yang. Black and white. Life and death. Chaos was the Shadow on the world.

And then he heard it. A heartbeat, one so deep and piercing it seemed to come from the entire blackness around him, as if the dark itself were a living creature. There was a pulsing coldness pressing in towards the boy, and he shied away from the icy grip. With the heartbeat came breath, and the chilled touch that came to him felt like scales of a lizard long hidden under the stones. Ryuuji felt its power as the form took shape, coiling endlessly around him. _A dragon?_

He remembered this dark fog, he recalled the same cold power. It had been his once, the power granted to him not by the Dragon Vein, but by the stars at the time of his birth. He was a Vessel, and the Dragon was the celestial embodiment of what he once carried. He hadn't known the beast long; Yagyuu had absorbed the powers and left him drained. Was the Yin Dragon calling to him?

For an instant, Ryuuji felt a new emotion take hold, tightening his chest, churning his stomach. The sensation was similar to the black void around him, and he knew what it was. Fear.

It was in that instant he saw the great head of the dragon appear from the shaded coils, the scales as black as night. Its eyes were red fire. It opened its jaw wide, and the roar of its voice echoed clean through his mind. Then it drove towards him –

And Ryuuji woke up, his ears ringing, his head spinning like a whirlwind.

As swiftly as the image of the black dragon faded, he realized he wasn't alone; someone was holding his arm, and another set of hands rested on his shoulder. When he finally came to his senses, he could feel the cold sweat encasing his body, the heat burning on his cheeks, and the twisted sheets about his midsection. Only then did he feel the tube in his arm, and the pinch of the heart monitor on his finger.

The hospital? That's right, he was always in and out of hospitals... But then his vision settled on the girl dressed in the traditional robes of a miko, and the present came rushing back to him.

"Are you okay?" Yukino Oribe asked, still holding onto his arm firmly.

"What happened?" he croaked in reply. He honestly couldn't remember the last few moments before he fell into the blackness, so how could he know for sure if he were alright?

On his other side, the attending nurse gave his shoulder an encouraging rub. "Don't worry, sweetie," the older lady assured him. "You were just having a dream."

Ryuuji nodded his head in understanding. He could hear the hectic bleeps from the heart monitor, and it was steadily slowing down. So he'd been caught in the throes of a nightmare? And he must have been fighting it, he discerned from Yukino's fierce grip on his arm. The simple explanation made him relax, and he collapsed back into the stiff pillow beneath him. But he still felt cold, he still recalled the void, and his body started to shiver of its own accord.

"Is he okay?" Yukino asked the nurse this time, and the genuine worry in her tone made Ryuuji turn to gaze at her with his remaining eye. But she wasn't looking at him, her eyes instead fixed on what the R.N. was doing.

"He'll be fine," the woman said. "The worst of it is over, and he's just feeling the shock pass now. His body is reacting normally."

The nurse patted his shoulder. She straightened, going for a needle on the tray beside his bed, and Ryuuji panicked. "Don't!" he begged. "Please don't give me anything else."

"It's alright, sweetie, it's just a sedative to calm you."

"Please," he insisted again. A sedative would put him to sleep, and give him back to the dragon. He shuddered, hearing the name come to him again. _Chaos._

When he thought she would ignore him in favor of doing her job, he turned his pleading look on the Oribe girl. "Please, no." Yukino was a strong, stubborn person herself, and at the explicit and desperate tone she could only nod.

"Sure," the nurse said, setting the medication down with a slight hesitation. "The doctor will be in to see you soon. Just press the button to call me if you change your mind."

"Thank you," Yukino said politely.

The nurse smiled in a professionally caring manner, and then patted Ryuuji's shoulder one more time. She quickly scribbled something on his chart before exiting the room. The boy let out a relieved sigh, and tried to bury himself deeper under the sheets. Only then did he remember why he was in the hospital. Finding he could hardly control his body, feeling every nerve tingle and all his muscles stiff, Ryuuji saw the new artificial leg and arm he was given, their unresponsive outlines laying still under the blankets. A sharp wave of nausea hit him, and he turned his face away.

He had gotten so used to being crippled, having two useless legs, so he was surprised at himself for having such a strong reaction when he lost two limbs in the unification ritual. His entire being had been so thoroughly absorbed by Yagyuu at that time, even his body broke apart. It sickened him, and at the same time, he felt an odd sort of penance. Ryuuji had even refused the procedure at first, but the Oribe twins had insisted he take the chance. Life was moving on, and for better or worse, he would move with it. It felt too much like his youth, faking the mundane and doing what he should, only because others thought he should.

The only thing he earnestly refused was the prosthetic eye, and he wouldn't bother to wait on a donor. _Leave something to brand me, blame me..._

And they did blame him, he could see it in their eyes. The Oribe sisters had taken on the burden of caring for him after the Apocalypse, after Tatsuma Hiyuu had rescued him, but it wasn't out of any sort of affection or respect. Ryuuji felt they were treating him just the same as the nurse, professionally. There was always a wavering about them, though, and no doubt they felt he didn't deserve their help. He was sure their duty as miko stayed their complaining, because the girls kept a watchful eye on the Dragon Vein and its attachment to him.

Sometimes the two old men would check in on him, as well, but it was mostly the precaution of recharging whatever spells they set around him. Even now he had a talisman on his person, he could feel the parchment paper hidden in the pocket of his hospital gown. What they were afraid of, Ryuuji had no idea. Maybe they were afraid of _him_? He just knew they blamed him for the chaos which he brought, and rightly so.

With another sigh, Ryuuji opened his eye again, finding Yukino watching him. She was still standing by his side, and although she had released his arm, her fingers rested on his elbow. Perhaps she feared he would overreact again, but why would she concern herself should something happen to him? And yet, there was a slight sympathy in her light touch, a worry still shining in her eyes.

Finding his voice again, Ryuuji said hoarsely, "You can go. I'll be fine by myself."

"Are you sure?" she asked, and he sensed a dodgy edge to her words. "I can sit with you and talk, if you'd like."

He shook his head, but somehow couldn't find the words to argue with her. If truth be told, he didn't want to be alone again, but how could he talk to someone who would only judge him? He chewed his lower lip in an attempt to stall his mind, to stay away the sleep which threatened to overtake him once more. He'd refused the sedative because he didn't want to sleep, but his body ached and his mind was weary; he felt ill. Yet he feared drifting back into the void again, back to the voice that accused him...

"Would you?" he braved, down casting his eye. "Stay with me awhile?"

And much to his surprise, Yukino took his hand – his _real_ hand that could still feel her warmth – in hers, comfortingly. "Of course."

Ryuuji didn't dare announce his stunned gratitude, not quite certain if the comfort he felt were true or faked. Still, she had agreed to stay with him, and he appreciated the simple gesture. Even if she were to judge him, even she were to treat him like some sort of worthless killer, he didn't mind. It was her right. And even if her display of sympathy was false, how could he rebuke her for it? After all, he had spent his entire life lying to everyone. His existence was based on counterfeit emotions, and no regrets. It was fair should others treat him the same.

At least he knew she had been there at the battle, she had been with him since, so Yukino knew quite clearly what he'd gone through. Even if she hated him, she was at least real and human, unlike the blackness that awaited him.

Chaos was still alive. And it wasn't a game any longer. It was his real life, and Ryuuji wasn't strong enough to make the journey alone.

* * *

Yukino Oribe left Ryuuji Yashiro's room when the doctor arrived, allowing the physician to attend to his patient with privilege. Ryuuji was still struggling to stay awake, but Yukino knew the doctor would make him take the sedative. She had a strong idea of what awaited the boy in his dreams, and it worried her, more than she let Ryuuji see when he had finally told her his nightmare. Even in his faint, confused details, she saw the warning signs.

And so, once outside the door, Yukino turned squarely about, closed her eyes, and raised two fingers of her right hand before her lips. Silently, she recited a prayer and spell of protection. She allowed herself to stare gravely at the door for a moment more, hoping for the best but already expecting the worst, then made her way to the waiting room.

_Damn, this is bad. It's calling to him, just like Arai-sensei feared. _Everyone assumed that Munetaka Yagyuu had entirely sapped the Vessel of the power it held; it seemed a given since Yagyuu fled with the energy of the celestial counterpart of the Golden Dragon, magic in full force. It should have been over for Ryuuji Yashiro, who had nearly lost his life in the exchange. But Master Arai knew better.

And that's why Ryuuji wasn't allowed to return to any family he had remaining, or even visit the people he knew from Tenryuuin Academy. Yukino had at least checked to see who among his classmates were dead or alive at his request, and she found his girlfriend safe – and frantic to find Ryuuji. But Yukino didn't dare speak to her. Master Arai had said it would be best for the world to believe the Yashiro child had perished with his parents, for he was certain the story of the Golden Dragon was unfinished, and it was a story in which Ryuuji would remain a key character. In that sense, Yukino agreed his friends would be safer if they kept their distance. Even so, she didn't have the heart to tell those who honestly cared about the boy that he was gone.

_Let them keep hoping... it's awful enough I have to be the bearer of bad news for Ryuuji._ It was bad enough she had to tell him his parents were dead. She'd been sure he was still the cold-blooded bastard he'd been when they all met him, yet... now he seemed more sincere, and lost. He hadn't cried when he found out about his parents, not even shed crocodile tears, but to her amazement, he'd expressed remorse. He wanted the opportunity to explain himself, to show a part of his true self he'd discovered to the two people who gave him life.

More amazing, Ryuuji continually asked about Tatsuma Hiyuu. He seemed to miss the other teenager, displaying an attachment Yukino couldn't comprehend, but she realized it went beyond the Yin and Yang. Whatever happened between Tatsuma and Ryuuji, it awoke the Yin – but also roused something else in the hardened boy's soul. And it left Ryuuji utterly broken.

Despite everything he'd done, Yukino honestly felt sorry for Chaos.

Her steps now trudging, Yukino made her way into the seating area of the visiting center. She found her twin sister there waiting. Hinano Oribe was staring out the massive wall of windows overlooking the suburban town, hands demurely clasped before her, back to the empty room. From her reflection Yukino could see her blank expression, and even though rain was still pounding the window forcefully, her sister was hearing none of the morning storm outside.

Hina had been thoughtfully quiet lately, ever since they found out Kyouichi Houraiji and Hisui Kisaragi had gone to China to follow the Golden Dragon, but she didn't voice any concerns to her sister. Yukino knew better than to pry details from her modest sibling, knowing full well Hina would tell her if and when she wanted to.

Hinano suddenly came to herself, and turned to Yukino with a worried, "Neesama?"

"He's alright," she said in response, unable to keep the note of dread from her tomboy voice. "For now. Did you talk to the doctor?"

"Yes. He didn't seem to know what exactly happened, just that Ryuuji fainted. They think it was just the stress of fitting his new leg."

"Well, he did pass out, but it wasn't from stress. He had a dream..."

Yukino shook her head in dire warning, and Hina's eyebrows lifted in concern. But before the elder twin could reiterate the nightmare, another voice broke into their dismal stupor. "Did he see a dragon?"

The girls spun towards the entrance hallway, and Yukino let out a relieved, "Arai-sensei!"

The old man, a mere slip in his muted green robes, flowed through the hall without so much as a brush of fabric against the slick linoleum floors. Always the image of ancient knowledge and wizened days, Ryuuzan Arai's presence was a great reassurance to the two miko. At first. His sudden appearance also meant their trepidation was fully justified.

As he drew near, Hinano breathed, "Thank goodness you're here."

"What brought you at such short notice?"

Stroking his long, thin beard, Arai said in his dispassionate tone, "I recently had a caller to my door, and he brings ill news."

It was then the twins heard the continuing footfalls and noticed the other man approach behind Arai, who stepped aside to allow the visitor be known.

Yukino started, and Hinano was quick to bow. "Mikado-sama," they greeted humbly in unison. "It's been a long time," added Hina properly.

Ever the proud Onmyouji, Haruaki Mikado austerely smiled from behind a folded fan, set shrewdly against his fine lips. He held the _harisen_ in slender fingers, his grip light but decisive, and behind the creased paper and wood boning, his eyes watched them intuitively. There was a noble elegance about him, and, despite being the same age as the twins, a great knowledge shimmered in his dark eyes. He had gleaned much from his devote training in both natural sciences and spiritual resources, holding information which seemed to transcend time. He was widely respected in his field.

But he was also a bit of a loner, and not many were honored to meet with him, and not very often. He'd been a senior at the Koushin Academy, and although admired, he didn't keep many friends, or involve himself in vast amounts of activities. Haruaki Mikado kept to himself, watching the world, learning its secrets, and preparing for the unexpected. He was powerful, and he knew it.

At their greeting, he bowed courteously, lowering his eyes in a reverent manner. "Ladies," he returned in a hauntingly handsome tone. It was a voice that made Hinato blush slightly, but as usual, Yukino was having none of his hypocritically charming fortitude.

"What brings you out and about, Mikado?" she asked, more directly than she knew she should have.

He grinned at her, taken with her sharp nerve, and said from beyond his fan's edge, "Unfortunately, not a social calling. Rather, I have been keeping my eye on the escalating occurrences, and a shadow has long crossed my divinations. I've learned you have the broken Yin?"

Yukino shared a troubled look with Hinano, then turned her gaze to Arai for approval. When the old man nodded, she conceded, "Yes. He's with the doctor at the moment."

Mikado scoffed in refined disdain. "I doubt a doctor of medicine can help him now. I heard you say he fell into a dream?" Yukino tipped her chin downwards in acknowledgment. "And _did_ he see a dragon?"

"He did." Yukino couldn't stop the foreboding bleakness from punctuating her words. She sighed unhappily. "A black dragon. He said he knew it."

"Naturally," Mikado said, his own voice turning drear. He caressed his lip with the edge of his fan, thoughtfully certain.

"You know something?" Yukino sensed her ire building with the tense situation, and she felt compelled into action. She was never one to stand around meekly and wait; she was strong-willed, and ready to fight. Whatever was happening, she needed to know, and she wasn't about to let the hermit Onmyouji's pompous attitude stall her.

Taking note of her sister's usual pig-headedness, reserved Hina cautioned evenly, "Neesama."

Yukino glanced at her twin, then restrained herself. Or at least her tone of voice. She asked more nicely, "What's going on, Mikado-sama? Master?"

"It's starting again," was all the elderly shaman with the extended, white eyebrows and beard said.

Yukino cursed under her breath; Hinano dropped her eyes as if in grief. "Like you thought, it's happening," she mused sadly.

Mikado said firmly, not swayed by their distress, "_Katatagae. _We'll be transporting young Yashiro to my house shrine in Asakusa for the time being. We need to avoid the... _unlucky_ path."

"But they want to keep him here for observations, and then he has his rehabilitation therapy," Hinano said with concern. "Wouldn't it be best if he stay at the hospital?"

"Too many people can come and go in this public place," Arai answered. The twins did not like the suspicious implication in his words. It almost sounded like someone might be after the boy. "And he needs to be protected, spiritually, at a temple. Mikado will guard him well."

"What happens then?" asked Yukino.

Mikado smiled, but it was rich and boastful, as if he were looking forward to a challenge. "Like the Chinese proverb states, biting dogs hide their fangs."

* * *

**Note: **Chapter is titled after the © ACID song _Zaisei_, which in one form means "being alive", from their "Punk Drunker" albums. All copyrights reserved to Hideki Imamura and the band, and no infringement is intended.


	7. Still in the Dream?

**_Tokyo Majin Gakuen Kenpucho: Tou _****「****_Saigo no Butai_****」**

**Chapter 6 - Still in the Dream? **

Somewhere, distantly, a woman's voice was humming a slow lullaby. He could hear it very faintly, rousing himself to listen.

Tatsuma no longer felt like he were weightlessly floating through empty space, and the driving urgency so apparent before had vanished. _What happened?_ he passively wondered to himself, his ears full of the easy song. He could remember attacking Yagyuu, but... afterwards?

He was still surrounded by the bleak void he'd grown accustomed to, even though it, too, had settled. The storm clouds were no longer tumbling above him, instead replaced by a blank canvas of night, starless and calm. The air was frozen with a peaceful cold, as if a fresh snow had blanketed the world. Yet as he exhaled, he couldn't see his breath, and he didn't feel chilled.

Tatsuma began drifting fully back to himself, growing aware that he was laying on his back, arms and legs spread-eagled, as if he were inviting the sky overhead to actually snow down on him. Smiling somewhat desolately at the thought, he began moving his limbs, pretending to make a snow angel. And then the sadness swelled, replacing the thought in his head with a tragic memory. _It snowed the night they died, too..._

"Except you're not dead yet," said a recognizable voice nearby.

Conscious of the speaker seated next to him, Tatsuma felt no worry or trepidation. Instead, he merely made a sound of understanding, closing his eyes almost reminiscently, and listened as the lullaby grew louder. Neither the melody, nor the woman, sounded familiar to him, so Tatsuma assumed it was something from_ his_ past.

"If I'm not, then why are you here, Kodzunu?" Tatsuma muttered curiously, not at all bothered by his sudden companion, nor the dialogue.

All of the anger and confusion he had towards Tendou Kodzunu had faded long ago, and now he felt an odd sort of closeness with the other teenager. They had history, and an unknown predetermined fate; it seemed they would forever cross paths. If they hadn't been enemies until the very end of the battle, Tatsuma might've considered him one of his oldest friends.

Tendou gave a characteristic chuckle, darkly amused. However, there wasn't much wickedness about his spirit; in death, it seemed as if he'd acquired the same forgiving nature that Tatsuma Hiyuu had naturally in life. "Why indeed," said Tendou. "Perhaps we're both still caught in the dream?"

Rolling his head to look at the other, Tatsuma saw the Kodzunu heir sitting casually beside him, one leg outstretched, the other bent with his hand draped over that knee. It appeared as if they'd been in a relaxed, lengthy conversation, even though there was no sense of time in the limbo-world. Yet none of it felt strange to Tatsuma, basic reasoning didn't matter.

He asked idly, "Am I dreaming?"

Tendou turned slowly, his pale eyes holding Tatsuma's gaze. There was something hollow about his personae. He grinned dryly and said, "I think you're the only one who can answer that question."

"Hmm. I guess so." As he spoke, Tatsuma lifted his hands before his eyes, noticing for the first time his fingerless gloves were gone. For a moment, his skin was bare, but then his own birthmarks appeared, very subtly, atop the pale flesh. Almost like a cruel reminder, he watched the left blur into Tendou Kodzunu's tattoo, and then back again. Over and over, the markings warped and changed, but he watched as if from outside a hazy fog, barely there. Tatsuma blinked curiously, trying to grasp the meaning; he was certain there was one, something questioning him just as Tendou was.

"More importantly, is this where you want to stay?"

He let his hands fall. Tatsuma knew what Tendou was implying. He'd gotten so used to the chase, being in the Dragon's void. He hadn't believed he was hiding here, but perhaps... Perhaps a part of him did not want to return to the human world. He was certain once back on Earth there would only be further ruin and tragedy, and he wasn't sure if he could cope with seeing more innocents suffer. He had hoped he could kill Munetaka Yagyuu in this isolated place, and let it all end here. That was his desire, but...

Unable to come up with a firm reply, Tatsuma sighed, looking away. He let his eyes wander to the blackness above them. And he frowned, wondering why it was so drab here. He wished there were stars in the sky. He couldn't explain it, but somehow seeing stars would have made him feel better. He would have felt less – alone.

"Are you calling to them?"

"Who?"

"The stars." Tendou's grin became an encouraging, yet forlorn, smile. "It's not as lonely where they are."

Now it was Tendou who turned away, casting his eyes down as he did. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Tendou leaned into them with a distant melancholy, mirroring the emotions churning through Tatsuma. He stared off into space with a profound vacancy to his eyes, and the sight of him made Tatsuma flinch; the dire recollection hit him hard – the scene of Tendou Kodzunu, misshapen by the Dark Arts, dead. In the background, the lullaby's tune became empathically warmer, a mother's heartening care.

Pity and longing stabbed Tatsuma, and he said nicely, his sensitive tone betraying him, "I don't feel alone."

"Heh," Tendou scoffed in a muted pitch. "Don't lie to a liar. And don't feel sorry for me. I have no regrets now." He titled his head towards Tatsuma, and the red flay of his hair fell over his sallow face. He pointedly asked, "What about you?"

The tumult of raw emotions which suddenly, fiercely, gripped his chest made Tatsuma moan softly. It was too much for him to remember entirely unbiased, and offered him too much pain; even the boy with him was a unswerving reminder. "Yes," he whispered. "I regret. There's a lot I regret."

"Then go back," Tendou said flatly, as if making the decision for him. He lifted himself to his feet, and the expression on his face was direct yet empty. He seemed a shell of the young man Tatsuma remembered. "Regret is for the living, and you still have another chance."

_Another chance? _Suddenly overwhelmed, Tatsuma's eyes filled with tears, and he realized with those words he hadn't succeeded in killing Yagyuu yet. There was a building fear inside him, but Tatsuma was no longer sure if it was a horror of having to continue the fight, or panic at being alone. So much rested on his shoulders, and he was growing tired.

It felt like he were falling down now, the air rushing passed him sharply. He fought it sluggishly, one hand groping, but finding no purchase. So he just let go, let himself fall. Tatsuma could no longer see Tendou Kodzunu in his dream. But he could still hear the sad lullaby, still hear the woman's faraway voice softly humming an indiscernible tune...

And as much as it hurt, Tatsuma finally opened his eyes, the teardrops feeling like tiny weights caught in his eyelashes. He took a shallow breath, hearing it rattle through his throat. He sensed a heaviness to his body, and he was aware of the growing fatigue in all of his muscles; there was a vague ache in his head, throbbing against his temples with every pulse of his blood. He felt confused. He also felt – human again.

Trying to focus on the world outside his body was difficult; his vision remained out of focus, making the sights foggy. But he found he were still laying on his back, and he soon recalled the last battle. _That's right, _he thought resignedly. They'd fallen. Both Yin and Yang, when the Golden Dragon had tried to take down its prey. _But I failed..._

The misery the realization brought forced a strangled, unhappy sob from his lips – and the sound drew the frenetic attention of someone else, someone with him; a pair of hands fell against him in a sort of satisfied shock. Slightly baffled, wondering if he were still in the dream with Tendou, Tatsuma turned to gaze at the person.

All he could vaguely make out was the face of a young Asian woman. His head surged with pain when he tried discerning details, and he didn't even have the strength to speak; he made an effort to open his mouth, but Tatsuma felt his throat tighten uncontrollably. Supple hands stroked his shoulder encouragingly, her touch gentle and easy as one hand fell on his forehead; her skin was unnaturally icy against his feverish own.

She spoke, but her voice was garbled and dulled in the misty haze of unconsciousness creeping upon him again. Tatsuma had no idea what she tried to tell him, but he felt reassured by the caring tone drifting through the blackness. And just before he passed out, far in the back reaches of his mind where comprehension lay in a muddle wait, he wondered if what she said was in another language...

* * *

"You do realize this is a trap?"

Kyouichi couldn't help but be incredulous as he addressed Kisaragi, gaze hard on his traveling companion seated directly across from him. The train rattled along the tracks for a moment, the reverberations echoing through the long corridors, then settled into a steady, rhythmic ride. In the passenger car, Kyouichi had grown bored of watching the world whip by outside the small porthole window, and his desire to voice his concerns finally broke free.

"Right?" he insisted.

Kisaragi had been sitting quietly with his hands folded in his lap and his head back; although his eyes were closed, Kyouichi knew he wasn't asleep. Soon enough, Kisaragi replied irritably, "There is the possibility, yes."

"Then why are we walkin' straight into it?"

"Do you know another fast means to get to Shanxi?"

"That's not what I meant, Muttsuri," Kyouichi growled, aggravated in turn, "and you know it. We shouldn't be followin' leads handed to us by the enemy."

Kisaragi sighed gravely and opened his eyes to give Kyouichi a strict glare. "Friend or foe, I cannot ignore the clear fact Mount Wutai is where the Dragons have descended."

For whatever uncomfortable reason, Kyouichi was bothered by the choice of words: _descended._ Was Tatsuma some sort of God now? Even more frustrating was Kisaragi's candidness. Kyouichi's eyes drew into dire slits. "But if you know that, then _they_ do, too." _Whoever the hell _they_ are..._

Allowing his eyes to wander towards the window, Kisaragi said in a darkly solicitous manner, "I have to wonder about that."

"Huh?"

"If this is an enemy seeking the Dragons, than by all rights they are on Yagyuu's side. They may even be the ones he fled to find. _If_ they were to know his whereabouts, I'm inclined to believe they _do_ know the Golden Dragon is there as well."

"Unless Tatsuma lost the trail."

"In which case, it would mean we are being stalked by Yagyuu."

Kyouichi let his eyebrows shoot up, startled. He hadn't thought about that, the possibility of Yagyuu himself trying to stop them from reaching the Golden Dragon. Munetaka Yagyuu always seemed to keep one step ahead of everyone, like a malevolent overseer staring down upon the players on a chess board; so he'd obviously be aware of Tatsuma's friends on the hunt. If it were true, they were in for an even greater fight than he'd first imagined. His hand tightened expectantly on his bokuto, already rising to the challenge. If Yagyuu were back on Earth, back in his human form, Kyouichi could take the bastard, he knew!

"However," Kisaragi continued, "I'm of the mind both Dragons fell at Mount Wutai, and both are being sought. Two sides of the same coin."

"So... this is a race to see who gets there first?"

"Or a trap, and they have already beaten us there."

_Beaten us to Tatsuma?_ Not good. Kyouichi rubbed at his jaw in irked confusion. "Shit, this pisses me off."

His emotional declaration seemed to give Kisaragi leave to ignore him, and he closed his eyes again. Kyouichi felt his anger building, but there really was no sense in letting it out on Kisaragi. Instead, he clucked his tongue in a callous breath, crossing his legs and thrusting his shoulders back against the uncomfortable edge of the headrest. He didn't like it, the idea they were walking into the lion's den without even knowing how many lions were in the pride.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. "Wait. If this is a race, and everyone is trying to find the Dragons, then... who's following us? If you believe that article, the enemy wouldn't want to give clues away so easily."

Kisaragi's head dipped slightly in a vague nod. He said again, "Friend, or foe."

"Eh?" Kyouichi chewed on his lower lip, weighing the options._ A friend would wanna help us get to Tatsuma first. But then, why follow us around in secret?_ That would mean it was someone neither of them knew personally, and the spy was also just as unsure of them. That could prove bothersome in the end. _If it's a foe, this is inevitably a goddamn trap._ "Dammit. So which do you think it is, Muttsuri?"

"Please, Houraiji," Kisaragi said behind a heavily weary and frankly frustrated sigh. "Let me rest."

For the first time, Kyouichi took in the clean sight of Kisaragi without his usual hotheaded judgments. He saw the noticeable paleness to his skin, the dark circles under the boy's eyes, the haggard expression and drawn brows; his posture, typically so straight and decisive, was now slumped in exhaustion. He actually looked like hell.

Shamefaced, Kyouichi nodded silently. _He's drained_, he said to himself with a dreadful positivity. _Genbu is draining him dry. _

Despite the insensitiveness of the notion, Kyouichi couldn't help but wonder how much he could rely on Kisaragi in the days to come. He finally could admit he trusted the antiques shop owner, yet he wasn't sure he could put so much faith in his vigor to watch his back in a fight. Should they walk into a trap, was Kisaragi justly prepared? If it came to that, Kyouichi would have to go into battle alone. He cursed mutely.

And another thought broke his contemplation. _You know what you have to do..._

With his usual defiant air, Kyouichi embraced his bokuto, holding it against his shoulder in the proud posture of a samurai. He knew he could be the sole warrior, as he had always been in the past. And he was used to protecting others.

As the train brought them closer to their destination, closer to danger, Kyouichi found himself watching the other travelers in the passenger car, even the attendants, wondering which one might be following them. And why...

* * *

Aoi sat on her dorm bed with the care package her parents had sent her. Its cardboard folds lay open, and nestled inside was a Tupperware of _Ichigo Daifuki_, strawberry confections made by her mother, who never understood Aoi's sudden fondness for the sweets. Unfortunately, now the container of little cakes sat forgotten, along with her mother's note, both still unpacked. Aoi's attention was stuck on her father's portion of the package.

In one hand she clutched the new cell phone he promised her, with a sticky note attached that read, _Call me. _On her lap was his letter. And her plane ticket to the States. She continued to stare at it, almost disbelieving.

Aoi had done well to completely forget about the conversation she had with her father several days ago. Her wishful intention was to devise a mature dialogue to explain to her parents why she would not go to college in America. On a few occasions, Aoi had even tried making notes for her speech, but had ultimately crumpled every sheet of paper into the wastebasket – to see it in writing only made the situation more real, plus she didn't want Komaki to find out. She couldn't explain it, but she didn't want her friends to know her dilemma.

But in the end, Aoi had childishly cast it aside, burying all thoughts of the trip in the back of her mind, hoping the matter would just disappear without her having to struggle.

Then the box arrived, and her ignorant bubble burst with a horrible backlash of stinging heartache and fruitless panic. Right now, she felt too shocked to even care.

The numbing sorrow was so dense, she didn't even hear when a quick knock sounded on the door. Without waiting for a reply, it opened and Komaki Sakurai stuck her head in. "Aoi?"

The other girl turned her gaze over blankly, but the sight of her friend caused Aoi to instantly hide her inner pain and put on a false mask of typical cheer. Komaki looked as happy as she'd ever seen her since they arrived in Saitama City, her brightness immediately noticeable, as if her pleasant attitude warmed the room.

"Oh good, you're here," Komaki said merrily. She came into the room, leaving the door opened behind her; Aoi sucked up her churning emotions even more, not wanting the other students outside to glimpse her true feelings. "I see you got a post, too?"

"Yes." Despite herself, Aoi heard the almost groggy crack in the word.

Komaki held up her hand, displaying a letter. "Same here. My Mom wrote to say they're coming to visit next week."

Komaki's high spirits and excited smile infected Aoi, who sincerely returned the gesture. "That's great. I haven't seen your family in a long time."

"Right?" Komaki beamed, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. "It'll be nice to see some more familiar faces around here, huh?" Her friend's smile started to widen, then suddenly it disappeared entirely. Komaki cocked her head curiously. "Oh, what's the ticket for?"

Aoi's heart sank as if an anchor was cast from it. She dropped her eyes to the letter, her brain reeling for an appropriate cover story. But in the end, she could never openly lie. Swallowing hard, she said, "I-It's a plane ticket – from my father."

"Plane ticket? Are you going home?"

"Um, they want me to go to America. They want me to go to college there."

For a brief moment, Aoi saw Komaki's expression falter and her mouth set in a firm line. She felt a wave of hope course through her, and couldn't stop the pleading look that washed into her eyes. Desperately, Aoi wanted to hear someone else affirm her own desires, to wish her not to leave. Perhaps, she thought with reliance, like Kyouichi might have done.

But whatever serious thought that seeped into her mind quickly fled, and Komaki's face lit up once again. "Really? That's so cool! Your English was always really good, maybe it was a sign?" She chuckled in jest.

"I guess so," Aoi heard herself mumble, not really sure to what she was replying. Her smile stayed on her lips, but now it was totally faked. It actually hurt to hear Komaki so encouraging.

"When are you leaving? I didn't think you could start in a foreign college so quickly."

"Well, right now Father is going there on a business trip, and he just wants me to come along for the exposure. I guess we'll look at universities and apartments." The words came robotically, and Aoi couldn't bring herself to look her friend in the eye.

She was so tired of fighting, but she knew if she accompanied her father now, there was no turning back; going would only seal her fate. But what else could she do? It was her own father, her family name. And even Komaki seemed to think it was a great idea. Getting to travel and see the world would indeed help her future. If she were tired, she should just give in. Was it really worth the effort to fight to stay in the dream?

"So you _are_ leaving soon?"

"He's coming for me in a few more days. I'm sorry, Komaki. I guess I won't get to see your parents after all."

"Mom will be disappointed, but that's okay. I'm sure you'll see them again sometime. Or maybe we can all come visit you in America? Wouldn't that be awesome?"

Aoi smiled sadly. "Of course." She could feel Komaki staring at her, as if trying to peel away the bogus layers of her outer shell. Not wanting to dampen her good mood, especially after everything else, Aoi forced herself to lift her eyes with a brightness she did not feel, saying, "I wish you could come with me, though."

"Yeah, but we all have to leave the nest sometime," Komaki said. The somber tone returned, creeping into her voice as if she were vaguely afraid of such a time. It touched Aoi in a reminiscent manner; Komaki was always looking out for her, much like Kyouichi, and it would be rather distressing if even her best friend were no longer by her side.

"Well," Komaki added to shy away from anything serious, "nothing is set in stone yet."

The choice of words caused Aoi to start, and even though a glimmer of optimism renewed itself, she wasn't sure if she could believe it. Or rather, if she had the strength left to allow herself to believe in it. "Maybe."

Jostling the mattress, Komaki rose onto her feet. "I'll leave you to finish opening your package," she said, still seeming quite joyful with things. "But if those are cakes in that Tupperware I see, I hope one has my name on it." She winked.

Aoi couldn't help but laugh lightly. Permitting herself that simple moment, she replied teasingly, "It's written in frosting."

"Good," said Komaki gaily. "I'll see you later, Aoi."

Aoi waved her friend off, and her mind held onto the picture of Komaki's clear smile. _Why can't I be as excited as Komaki? Why can't I just let go, and be happy with life the way it is? It would be so much simpler. _Even as she interrogated herself, Aoi knew the answer, their names swept through her heart like the reminder of a summer breeze on a cold winter night. _Kyouichi... Tatsuma..._

Sensing tears brimming, Aoi sighed out her sadness and lethargically turned her attention to the cell phone in her hand. With mundane movements, she took off the note from her father and turned it on. She waited to check the battery, knowing full well she would call her father as he wished – everything as he wanted – when the phone suddenly lit up against her palm and beeped.

Intrigued, slightly perplexed, Aoi flipped it opened, and found a text message demanding to be read. She selected the proper function, thinking it was from her parents, or perhaps the service provider's greeting, only to see a number she didn't instantly recognize. The number pattern seemed familiar, but – whose was it?

And then she saw the text: _I'm coming to see you guys. Be there soon. Please be safe. Anko._

_Anko-chan?_ How on earth did Kyouko Touno get the number to a new cell not even in her possession yet? Aoi shook her head in confused awe. It could only mean Anko was urgently trying to get a hold of her, and, ever the sleuth, contacted her parents for a way. She wondered, with a newfound nervousness, what could be so desperate enough to warrant a sudden trip to Kokusai.

_Please be safe._ Why wouldn't they be safe? Suddenly, a different panic gripped her chest, and Aoi felt a pulse of foreboding beating through her.

Something was wrong. She was sure of it.

* * *

A few feet down the dormitory hall, Komaki's steps slowed considerably. _Something's wrong, _she told herself positively. Aoi was acting normal, but there was a profound bleakness to her very movements and words; it felt much like a performance to Komaki.

But she wondered why Aoi wouldn't want to attend college in the U.S.A. It was a great opportunity, and if Komaki's parents could afford it, she would definitely love to travel with her. Really, who wouldn't enjoy such a chance? Perhaps Aoi just didn't want to seem overly excited in the wake of all the terror and loss. Indeed, that was the very reason Komaki tried to make a festival out of the unexpected news, even though her initial reaction was incredulous disappointment.

Aoi getting to journey to a new college, her own parents coming to visit and support her – it was all fantastic news. Komaki knew they should be happy. It meant they were getting the chance to move on. The battle was over for them.

_So why do I feel worried?_ Deep down, Komaki sensed a whole other storm brewing, and somehow she knew it was coming for them like a cyclone. She hated the suspicious feeling, scolding herself to ignore it. Certainly, it had to be nothing but a nightmare caused from her concerns, all the stress of the past few months.

Even worse, however, was the realization of how the dismal premonition was making her feel. It seemed to her a personal attack, and Komaki tensed at the stab of what she could only describe as betrayal. It made her anxious and defensive.

What would this sudden storm bring? And would she have to face it alone now, without Aoi? As much as she wished it weren't so, she again felt as if Aoi were abandoning her. And in the end, only one thought raced through her mind:

_She's leaving me..._

* * *

The evening lengthened into night, and the final meals had been served at the shelter. The kitchen was cleaned, and the rest of the volunteers were gone. Alone in the darkened cafeteria of bleached tile and stainless steel appliances, Yuuya Daigo slouched against the back wall, the phone loose in his hand; the emanating ringtone was pounding in his ear, the caller long since disconnected. The conversation was over, but the shock kept building so badly he was unable to move, even to simply hang the phone up.

Shaking, Daigo pressed the back of his free hand to his lips, feeling like he'd be sick. A burning sensation was swelling through his chest, so unprocessed and indescribable were his emotions over the news.

The news they had finally found his father in Tokyo.

* * *

**Note: **Chapter is titled after the song of the same name from the © ACID "2.0 Spiritual Circus" album. All copyrights reserved to Junpei, Daisuke, and Yuuta, and no infringement is intended.


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